


Cardamom

by LostCauses (Anteros)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arab Levi, Archaeology, Language Barrier, M/M, Middle East, Slow Burn, eruri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:21:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anteros/pseuds/LostCauses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first day of the Archaeological Symposium has been long and tiring and Erwin just needs one cup of coffee before he attempts to find his way back to his hotel.  </p><p>“Just a long black, please.”</p><p>The barista drawls something in Arabic, sounding mildly irritated as he points at the menu.</p><p>“Coffee,” Erwin clarifies intelligently. He’s hot, he’s tired, he’s confused. He wants caffeine as soon as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The cafe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic that birbwin kicked off and I picked up. I was supposed to come up with an ending but it seems to have taken on a life of its own!

“Just a long black, please.”

The barista looks at him. Erwin looks right back.

“Americano,” he tries instead.

The barista drawls something in Arabic, sounding mildly irritated as he points at the menu. Erwin frowns, not understanding a word – neither from the young man or the chalkboard with its foreign lines and smudged squiggles.

“Coffee,” Erwin clarifies intelligently. He’s hot, he’s tired, he’s confused. He just wants caffeine as soon as possible.

The barista lifts his small chin up, grey eyes sharp. Erwin vaguely registers that he is much older than his short stature and slim build had initially led him to presume. He hisses something and Erwin thinks he hears a word that sounds like coffee. Progress. 

“Ah…”

Someone on a nearby bench puts their book aside with a smack, glasses glimmering in the light. 

“What kind of coffee, idiot,” they grin. Their English has an accent he can’t place.

Erwin turns toward them. 

“Excuse me?”

They point at the barista. 

“That’s what he said.”

Erwin sighs out his relief. 

“Can you tell him anything will do, as long as it’s strong?”

They communicate this to the barista, who huffs and mutters something to himself as he turns around to his coffee machine.

“Thank you,” Erwin says to his anonymous rescuer. He gives them a fatigued smile. “What did he say just now?”

“No problem! He said ‘stupid American just assumes I speak English’.”

Erwin gives a small pout. He has an Arabic language guidebook for travellers in the conference bag by his feet but he’s too tired and irritated to fish it out. The first day of the Archaeological Symposium has been long and tiring and he just needs one cup of coffee before he attempts to find his way back to his hotel. 

“I assumed coffee was a universal language, and I’m not American,” he defends. “Did I offend him?”

The person gives a high screech, their greasy hair shaking about as their chest heaves with laughter. 

“No, he’s just like that.”

The barista calls out something over the clang of a metallic coffee pot. Erwin looked to his new friend eagerly.

They wave a hand at Erwin. “Oh, that one was for me. He told me to stop talking shit.”

The barista scowls and clicks his tongue, communicating his irritation and disapproval quite clearly. Despite, or perhaps because of his obvious ill temper, Erwin can’t help finding his theatrics rather endearing.

Reaching beneath the counter the barista places a small handle-less cup in front of Erwin and turns away. The cup is tiny, white, flared at the lip, tapering at the base, decorated with intricate green and gold designs. Erwin is admiring it in an off hand fashion, wondering what it’s for, when the barista returns to the counter with a long-handled enamel pot, out of which he pours something that looks suspiciously like mud. Erwin stares down at the gritty brown sludge filling the dainty cup and then glances up in confusion. The barista touches his fingers lightly to his chest and gestures towards the cup with a tilt of his head. Erwin has the distinct impression he is being mocked and the curve of the barista’s lips only confirms his suspicions. 

“Is that supposed to be…coffee?” Erwin asks incredulously.

The barista leans back and crosses his arms. He’s definitely smirking now, one narrow brow curving upwards, and there’s something about the tilt of his lips that draws Erwin’s eye irresistibly. 

“Well, I suppose, when in Rome…” Erwin mutters. 

He lifts the tiny cup between thumb and forefinger and sniffs it cautiously. It’s definitely coffee, strong coffee, but there’s something else there as well, something heady and spicy. The barista is watching him with open fascination as Erwin tilts the cup to his lips. The coffee is barely liquid at all, thick and gritty and overpoweringly sweet. At first all Erwin can taste is the sugar but then a fresh, nutty, resinous flavour washes over his palate, filling his mouth and snaking up the back of his nose.

“Oh!” He can’t help his surprise. “That’s…what is that?”

The barista says something but again the words are lost on Erwin, he turns back to his translator.

“What did he say?”

“He said it’s cardamom and asked if you have shit for brains.”

Erwin looks back at the barista who is pushing a small plate towards him. The plate is as Lilliputian as the cup and in the centre is a tiny pastry, slick with honey.

“For me?” Erwin asks, gesturing towards himself.

The barista rolls his eyes and spits something under his breath. Behind him, Erwin hears a bark of laughter. Stupid question then. 

Erwin takes another sip of the sweet spicy coffee and bites into the pastry. Honey and pieces of nut ooze out over his fingers and he has to toss the whole lot into his mouth before he makes even more of a mess. He’s left with a mouth filled with sweetness and spice, honey coating his fingers. He lifts his thumb to his mouth to catch a drop of honey before it falls onto the counter and that’s when he realises the barista is staring at him. Really staring. Grey eyes blown wide. The scowl has melted away and as Erwin sucks the honey from his fingers the man’s throat bobs. They stare at each other for a moment before the barista snatches up the empty plate and turns his back on the counter, but not before Erwin sees a faint hint of rose colouring his cheeks. 

“Shukran,” Erwin says to the barista’s back. It’s one of the few words of Arabic he knows and he’s sure his inflection is all wrong. The man’s back stiffens, and Erwin wonders if his mispronunciation has transformed his thanks into something deeply, irredeemably offensive, until the dark head turns and the barista smiles over his shoulder. It’s a brief tentative thing, barely there at all, but Erwin can’t help feeling inordinately pleased. 

The barista sets about cleaning the already immaculate coffee machine and spotless counter, deftly avoiding Erwin’s attempts at eye contact. Erwin sips his coffee slowly, savouring the fresh aromatic flavour and the burst of desperately needed caffeine, all the while watching the barista. There’s something lithe and graceful in the way he moves, even in the small confined space behind the counter. Conversation is clearly out of the question and, not for the first time, Erwin is acutely embarrassed by his woeful lack of languages other than English and grade school French. 

It doesn’t take Erwin long to finish his coffee, leaving a good inch of gritty aromatic residue at the bottom of the tiny cup. The barista has finished cleaning the pristine surfaces and is now flicking through something on his phone, studiously ignoring Erwin. He has no idea how to ask for the bill and is not inclined to make a fool of himself by miming the universal signal for “cheque please”. Instead he takes out his wallet and removes a note that he hopes should be more than enough to cover the cost of the tiny coffee and minuscule pastry. He clears his throat as he lays the note on the counter. The barista continues to ignore him. 

“Excuse me,” he says firmly, “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to…”

Without looking up, the barista snatches the note from the counter, turns to the till and then lays Erwin’s change in front of him on a small metal plate. 

Erwin smiles and nudges the plate back across the counter. The barista glares at him for a moment before returning his attention to his phone. Erwin sighs and reaches down for his bag. As he leaves, he stops at the book reader’s bench. 

“Thank you for your assistance,” he says, “and please could you tell him,” he inclines his head pointedly towards the barista, “thank you for the coffee and the charming company.” 

Erwin doesn’t give a damn if he’s being rude, he can feel his jetlag kicking in again despite the coffee, and something about that cool grey gaze has worked it’s way under his skin. 

Erwin leaves the café and walks back to his hotel through busy streets, loud with traffic, rich with unfamiliar sights and smells. He intends to spend the evening running through his presentation for the conference tomorrow, instead he lies on the bed, half naked in the heat, listening to the rattle of the air conditioning unit, the ceaseless drone of the traffic and, floating over it all, the fluid call of the Mu’adhan. When he sleeps, his dreams are filled with piercing grey eyes, the tilt of narrow brows, the intoxicating aroma of cardamom. 

He can still taste spice and honey on his tongue when he wakes.


	2. The conference

“For our next speaker I’d like to welcome Dr Erwin Smith who will be presenting a new dating sequence for the ceramic typology of Umm el-Jimal from the Nabataean period to the Umayyad Caliphate.”

Erwin thanks the chair and steps up to the podium with rather more confidence than he feels. Not that he’s unprepared, he has presented his team’s research on numerous occasions, but this is the first time he has presented their findings in person, in the Middle East. He has been working on the project for several years but usually the excavation team sends the ceramic samples to his lab for dating and analysis and they send back the results along with papers and data sets for the interim reports. This is Erwin’s first opportunity to visit the university overseeing the excavations and coordinating the post excavation analysis, so he can be forgiven a few nerves. 

He needed have worried. Once he starts speaking, Erwin’s words flow with confidence and authority, the audience listens attentively, and when he outlines his conclusions and draws to a close with a minute to spare he is rewarded with enthusiastic applause. There is no shortage of questions in the brief discussion slot following Erwin’s presentation. Most are polite and unchallenging, though he has to suffer the inevitable conference bore who rambles on at length about his own research while failing to frame a coherent question. Erwin stands behind the dais smiling politely as the man drones on and the audience starts to shuffle and he is grateful when the chair deftly starts to draw the session to a close. 

“Thank you for your comments, if there are no more questions, I’d like to thank Dr Smith…ah, I think we have time for just one more from the back.”

Erwin squints into the lights and can just make out the raised hand at the back of the auditorium.

“Your dating sequence is out for the later Nabataean period. There’s a mistake in your calibration calculations.” 

Erwin can feel a cold sweat breaking out under his collar as he turns back to his laptop and hastily flicks through his presentation, attempting to find the offending slide. 

“The calibration data has been checked against…” he begins, but the speaker cuts him off again. 

“Also the terra sigillata wasn’t imported from Syria, the ceramic petrology shows it was made locally in the Hauran.”

Erwin looks up and blinks, his mind racing, desperately trying to recall the petrology report but coming up with a complete blank. 

A rather awkward silence has fallen over the auditorium and Erwin is at a complete loss for words when the chair steps in to his rescue.

“Thank you, I’m afraid we’ll have to leave this discussion there, however we can continue over coffee which is about to be served in the foyer. We’ll reconvene in half an hour. Please join me in thanking Dr Smith for …”

Erwin doesn’t hear the rest of the chair’s thanks or the audience’s polite applause. He’s mortified. It isn’t like him to miss such an obvious error and he’s furious with himself for doing so. And even more annoyingly, he can recall nothing of the ceramic petrology report. He lingers as the auditorium empties, fiddling with his papers and laptop, waiting impatiently for the man who asked the question to make his way down from the back of the auditorium. The hall is almost empty as he passes Erwin, he’s looking at something on his phone, dark hair falling over his eyes, obscuring his face. 

“Excuse me,” Erwin starts, trying unsuccessfully to keep the irritation from his voice. “That ceramic petrology report you mentioned, I don’t recall seeing it, when was it published?”

“Its not,” the man replies, still looking at his phone. 

“Pardon?”

“It hasn’t been published yet. I’m still working on it.”

“But that’s not…” Erwin starts.

“Not what?” the man asks, looking up and fixing Erwin with that steady grey gaze. 

It takes Erwin a moment to recognise him, and a moment longer to remember how to speak.

“Oh! Oh….” he stammers, “it’s you. You’re…”

“Levi, post grad researcher.” The man crosses his arms and lifts his chin up. Somehow he makes his job title sound like a challenge.

“You speak English,” Erwin points out rather unnecessarily. His English is indeed flawless with the kind of lilting accent that could make a telephone directory sound like epic poetry.

“So do you,” he replies, “though what’s coming out of your mouth right now isn’t making much sense.” 

Erwin opens his mouth to object, before closing it again hurriedly. 

“Oh and this hasn't been part of the Roman Empire since the fifth century.” 

“Sorry?” Erwin is utterly bemused now. 

“When in Rome?” Levi reminds him.

“Ah,” Erwin stammers, “I didn’t mean… it’s just a turn of phrase…”

Levi rolls his eyes, narrow brows curving upwards. 

Erwin stops. 

“Why am I telling you this? You know exactly what it means.” 

“Wow. Maybe you don’t have shit for brains after all,” he drawls.

“I’m sorry,” Erwin suddenly finds himself laughing, “I’m a bit out of my element here. Even ordering coffee is beyond me.” 

“You’re not safe to be alone.” Levi deadpans. 

“Care to accompany me then? I think we have a lot to talk about.” 

“Fine. If you can stand the charming company.” 

Erwin’s cheeks flush as he follows Levi out of the auditorium.


	3. Conversation

“Shit, you mean you’ve never visited the site?”

Levi is glaring at Erwin incredulously. They’re sitting at a busy pavement café in the main square not far from the university, surrounded by the din of traffic, the sweet smell of scented tobacco and everywhere the fluid language Erwin is starting to passionately wish he understood. 

“Sorry, no, this is my first time in the Middle East,” he apologises amicably.

“Why?” 

“Why have I never visited the site or why is this my first time in the Middle East?” 

“Same fucking question isn’t it?” Levi snorts. “You’ve worked on this project for how long? Three, four, years?

“Three on and off.” 

“And you’ve never visited the site? That’s fucked up.” 

“I’ve never had the opportunity before,” Erwin replies, hoping his honesty will disarm Levi’s contempt. 

Levi clicks his tongue quietly. Erwin is already growing accustomed to the sound of his disdain; it’s oddly charming, much like the man himself. They’ve been sitting talking for the best part of an hour over glass after glass of hot sweet mint tea. They’ve missed the next session of the conference but Erwin finds he doesn’t much care. After several false starts, they’ve managed to strike up a conversation of sorts. Levi, it transpires, is helping to write up the results of the petrographic analysis of the Umm el-Jimal ceramics, but his own research is focused on fieldwork. 

“I mean, why the fuck would you want to be stuck in a lab if you could be out there?” 

He jerks his head in an indeterminate direction. By 'out there' he clearly means in the field, and more specifically, the desert. 

Though he frowns continually and has the sharpest tongue Erwin has ever been on the receiving end of, he can’t help warming to Levi’s odd brand of biting sarcasm and his filthy irreverent mouth. Erwin is sufficiently senior in his own university to have earned a degree of obsequiousness from his colleagues, and he can’t help finding Levi’s lack of deference refreshing.

“Why are you working on it then?” Levi continues, clearly unwilling to cut Erwin any slack. 

“The project? The lab was asked to do the dating and some of the analysis so we agreed to be written into the bid. I’m the principal investigator at our end, but there’s a team of…”

“So it doesn’t mean anything?” Levi interrupts, “it’s just a string of dates and a pile of potsherds that could have come from anywhere?”

“Well we have the context of all the samples we date of course…” not for the first time Erwin feels that Levi has him on the back foot and he can’t help wondering at the man’s ability to get under his skin.

“But you’ve never seen where they came from?”

Christ he’s persistent. 

“No.” Erwin concedes. The context is simply the number of a stratigraphic layer and a grid reference on a plan. It’s all just data to Erwin. 

“Tch.” 

Levi drums his fingers against the ornate tea glass for a few moments before abruptly changing tack.

“You got a wife and kids at home.” 

It’s more of a statement than a question.

“No.” 

“No wife? At your age?”

“No,” Erwin bristles, “I’m not married.” 

Levi opens his mouth to speak again, closes it, and peers at him, narrowing his eyes. The intense scrutiny makes Erwin acutely self-conscious.

Shit. He knows. 

It’s ridiculous; there are many reasons, apart from the obvious, why Erwin might not be married. Besides, it’s no one’s business but his own. There’s something about that sharp grey gaze that seems to see right through him though.

“I’m going tomorrow. You can come.”

“Sorry?”

Erwin’s lost the thread of the conversation. Must be his jetlag kicking in again; he’s not usually so un-focused. 

“To the site, Umm el-Jimal. Need to pick up a vehicle and some soil samples. You can come.” 

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’ve got meetings lined up for the next two days and then I’m leaving.” 

“Meetings?” Levi makes his contempt for ‘meetings’ quite clear.

“With the project director,” Erwin explains.

“Fuck them. What do you think Skype is for? You can have meetings anytime. Tomorrow you’re coming to the site.” 

There doesn’t seen to be any room for discussion or dissent. 

“Where are you staying? We’ll pick you up at seven.”

Erwin tells Levi the name of his hotel and he nods.

“Don’t be late. I’m not waiting for you.”

Then he stands abruptly to leave. 

“You’re going?” Erwin can’t help feeling a little disappointed. “You’re not coming back to the conference?” 

“Can’t. Got to work at the cafe. You think this PhD pays for itself?” 

He mutters something in Arabic as he turns to leave and Erwin has the distinct impression it’s not complementary. He can’t help smiling.


	4. The Hauran

The pick up is already waiting when Erwin stumbles out of his hotel, bleary eyed, at seven in the morning. Levi is leaning against the back of the truck, dressed in the ubiquitous uniform of field workers the world over; boots, combats, faded shirt, a white keffiyeh wound round his neck. He introduces Erwin to the driver, another archaeology post grad based at the university. 

“They’ll drive us up,” Levi explains, “I’ll pick up the Landover and the soil samples and drive us back.” 

He holds the door of the cab open for Erwin, as the driver starts up the vehicle. There’s only one passenger seat inside.

“Ah, where will you…?” Erwin starts. 

“I’m in the back.” 

Levi hops up into the back of the pickup, settles into one of the narrow wooden benches running the length of the truck and raps on the back of the cab.

“Come on, let’s get going.”

They drive through the city until the houses start the thin out, then they’re bypassing fields and olive groves, herds of goats and fat-tailed sheep grazing on the scrub along the side of the road. The driver chats politely, their English much less fluent than Levi’s but considerably less course. Erwin wonders about asking them to teach him a few words of Arabic, but worries he’ll appear crass. 

After driving for an hour they stop for gas at a filling station on the edge of small village. The houses are mostly concrete but here and there are older buildings of black basalt edged with white lime mortar and decorated with red and green chevrons. 

Erwin steps out of the cab to stretch his legs. It’s still only eight in the morning but he’s almost poleaxed by the heat. Levi has already climbed down from the back of the truck and disappeared into the tiny shop beside the gas station. He emerges a few minutes later with bottles of fizzy orange and wafer biscuits, which he passes out to Erwin and the driver. He pulls a map out of the cab as they refuel, pointing out their location, the route to Umm el-Jimal and other sites they’ll be passing along the way. The juice is warm and sugary but somehow it hits the spot and Erwin is starting to feel inordinately pleased that he followed Levi’s advice and cancelled his meetings. Once they’ve finished, Levi returns the bottles to a crate sitting in front of the gas station and climbs up into the back of the truck. 

“Mind if I join you?” 

Erwin motions to the bench on the other side of the truck, it’s really just a plank propped up by a couple of old gas cans. Levi shrugs. 

“You’re better off in the front.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Erwin smiles as he climbs up and perches on the rough bench.

They’re barely a mile out of the village before Erwin realises just how right Levi was. The heat and the dust are suffocating; it’s like sitting in a superheated wind tunnel while being simultaneously sand blasted. Levi has wrapped his keffiyeh around his head leaving nothing but his eyes showing, and settled back against the cab of the pickup. Erwin has nothing to keep the dust off his face, but he’s glad he has his shades to shield his eyes at least. The dark lenses also allow him to examine his new companion. Levi is short, there’s no other word for it, tiny really, but there’s nothing slight about him. He’s strong and wiry and Erwin can’t keep his eyes off the golden swell of his forearms folded across his chest. It’s his eyes that really captivate Erwin though, sharp and clear and grey. Erwin could drown in eyes like that. 

They’ve left the scattered villages behind and they’re into the Hauran proper now, the black volcanic desert straddling the Syrian border. The desert stretches away in every direction, dark and rocky, broken up by rough scrub and crisscrossed by dry wadis and rocky outcrops. It looks nothing like Erwin imagined. 

Conversation is impossible in the back of the truck but every so often Levi points out sites as they pass. Erwin hasn’t the heart to admit that much of it looks like so many piles of rock.

“Jebel Qais,” Levi shouts, pulling the keffiyeh away from his face for a moment and pointing to a prominent hill in the distance. “Dead volcano.” 

Erwin looks and smiles. Despite the heat and the dust his spirits are soaring. 

On the outskirts of an isolated village a pack of dogs chases after the pickup snapping and snarling. Levi picks up a stone from the bed of the truck and throws is at them with a quick flick of his wrist hitting the leader square on the nose. The dog yelps and peels off and before long they’ve left them behind. 

By the time they reach Umm el-Jimal an hour later Erwin is parched, dirty and exhausted. Every inch of his body feels gritty, the dust has worked it’s way under his clothes, his hair is stiff with sand and his legs are so cramped that he can barely clamber down from the back of the truck. But it doesn’t matter, none of it matters; and Erwin doesn’t know if it’s the ancient city laid out before him, or the curious man by his side, but he is captivated. 

Levi seems entirely unaffected by the journey. He jumps down easily from the truck unwinds the keffiyeh from his face, shakes out the dust and drapes it round his neck.

“Okay?” he asks, pointedly looking Erwin up and down.

“Yes, very much so,” Erwin grins, as he runs his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to comb out some of the dust. 

“Good. Come on. I’ll introduce you to the warden.”


	5. Umm el-Jimal

The site warden is a large man with an impressive moustache who seems inordinately pleased to meet Erwin. He ushers them into a reception room beside his office, and shoos one of the site assistants away to make coffee. 

“Come, please, take a seat,” he gestures to the low floor cushions arranged around the walls, “and tell me the results of the latest dating work.”

Erwin lowers himself awkwardly to the floor, his knees cracking like gunshots. Levi snorts audibly as he drops down beside him, folding his legs up neatly beneath him. Erwin can feel his cheeks colouring.

As Erwin starts running through the latest dating results, the site assistant returns with a tall metal coffee pot and a single tiny cup, similar to the one Levi had served him with in the café. He fills the cup, hands it to Erwin, and stands expectantly in front of him. Erwin glances at Levi who rolls his eyes. 

“Drink it, idiot. If you want a second, tip the cup towards him, if not, thank him.”

Erwin does as he’s told, returning the cup to the man with thanks. He refills it, hands it to Levi, then lastly to the warden. Just as Erwin is beginning to wish he had asked for a second cup, a young woman enters with a tray filled with glasses of mint tea, plates of sweet pastries and bowls of pistachios. They spend an hour talking over tea about the dating sequence and the most recent excavations on the site until Levi interrupts the conversation in Arabic. 

“Ah yes, of course,” the warden replies rising to his feet, “forgive me, your time is short and you’re here to see the site, not to entertain my curiosity.”

He leads them outside and points out some of the main features of the site before taking his leave. 

“I can give you a map,” he adds, as he shakes Erwin’s hand, “but you have Levi so you won’t need it. He is better than any map. He knows the site almost as well as I do.”

Erwin can’t help feeling oddly pleased at the prospect of having the small scowling man all to himself for the day. 

“Sounds like you’re quite the expert,” Erwin comments, as the warden returns to the office. 

“Tch. Some people talk too much.”

Erwin doesn’t know if the comment is directed at him or the warden so he just laughs. 

Levi, it transpires, is indeed an expert; he knows the site like the back of his hand and to Erwin’s surprise turns out to be a remarkably patient tour guide. 

The site is so much bigger than Erwin had imagined; a vast ruined city occupied for over seven hundred years and once home to over eight thousand people. There are long streets of houses, many standing two stories high, vaulted Nabatean temples, churches with elegant arches, double storied fortified barracks, reservoirs and water channels, grand dwellings with courtyards and aqueducts, all built from the black basalt of the volcanic desert, glittering in the morning sun. Levi points out the main structures, the contexts that produced significant ceramic assemblages, explains the transition from the Byzantine to the Umayyad period. As he talks, he slips effortlessly between English and Arabic, and if Erwin sometimes struggles to follow him, he says nothing, content just to listen to the man’s voice. Levi draws Erwin’s attention to the numerous inscriptions, translating them for his benefit, appalled by his lack of even basic Latin. 

“I’m sorry,” Erwin apologises, “I’m not a classicist, I’m a scientist. 

“Fucking dumbass more like.” 

Levi glares at him but there’s that upward tilt of his brows that Erwin is coming to recognises as the approximation of a smile. 

They’ve walked for miles by the time they stop for lunch in the shade of one of the ruined houses. Levi produces flatbreads, hummus and olives from his backpack, Erwin having been entrusted to carry the water. He settles on the ground to eat, idly sorting through the pottery shards scattered around his feet. Levi perches above his head on one of the cantilevered steps protruding from the wall of the house. Erwin can’t help noticing that he naturally seeks high ground. Whenever they stop to examine a feature he steps up onto a wall or a rock or a boulder. It rarely brings him up to Erwin’s eye level and he is convinced it’s an unconscious habit on Levi’s part. He wonders what Levi’s reaction would be if he told him how charming he finds it. 

Erwin leans his head back against the cool basalt wall of the house and closes his eyes. He’s hot, dirty and exhausted and there’s nowhere else in the world he would rather be right now. 

“What’s that?” he asks lazily, eyes still closed “that bird, I’ve been hearing it all morning.” 

“Al-hudhud,” Levi replies, “I don’t know the English name. Look, there.”

Erwin cracks one eye open and squints in the direction Levi is pointing. The bird is the same dun colour as the sand and would be barely visible were it not for it’s black and white barred wings and striking crest.

“Oh, that’s a hoopoe I think.”

“Hoopoe,” Levi repeats the word “makes sense.”

They spend the rest of the day exploring the area of the city around the remains of the Byzantine cathedral with it’s elegant apse and geometric mosaics, Levi explaining that the style is regional and originates from Madaba, a town known as the city of mosaics. Erwin adds the name to the growing list of places to visit when he comes back to the Middle East. He’s already decided that as soon as he gets home, finding a way to return will be his top priority. Research project, conference, secondment, sabbatical, whatever, it doesn’t matter, anything so long as he can come back. If it comes to it, he’ll even use every last day of the annual leave he accrues every year but never takes. 

It’s late in the afternoon when they return to the site offices; the site assistants are already ushering the last of the tourists out and locking up the small visitor centre. Levi leads Erwin to an out building at the back of the compound and unlocks it to reveal a large store room stacked neatly with tools, boxes of finds and bagged soil samples. He points out which samples they’re to take back to the lab and Erwin helps load them into the back of an ancient Landrover that has clearly seen better days. They’re loading up the last of the samples when Erwin notices the faint shimmer of dust rising above the ruins. Shielding his eyes, he squints into the low light and watches as the shimmer resolves into an undulating herd of camels. As the herd makes its way out of the ruins of the city, Erwin can see that every one of them is pure white. They had passed several camels on the road up to the site, brown, scrawny, bad tempered looking beasts, nothing like the stately creatures approaching. For a moment Erwin wonders if he’s hallucinating until Levi looks up, following his eyes, and raises his arm to wave to the herd boy who is meandering up the road after the camels. 

“I’m not seeing things then?” Erwin asks.

“What?” Levi turns his attention from the boy to Erwin.

“The camels, I thought I was seeing things.” 

“Do you often see imaginary camels?” 

There’s a slight curl to Levi’s lips, an almost-smile that makes something in Erwin’s chest tighten.

“Not at all,” Erwin replies, not bothering to keep the grin from his own face. “Until this morning I’d never seen a camel in my life, I didn’t even know white ones existed! Where do they come from?”

“You know what the name of the site means, right? Umm el-Jimal?” Levi pronounces the words slowly, as though talking to a child. “Surely even you must know that?”

“Mother of camels,” Erwin replies dutifully. He may not have visited the site before, but after three years working on the project, he’s not completely clueless, despite what Levi might think. 

“Yeah right. Well white ones are very rare and very valuable. Those filthy beasts are probably worth more than all your research grants put together. There’s always been a herd here. They’re owned by a local sheik. It’s a status thing.”

“Can I go and look at them?” Erwin asks.

“Sure,” Levi shrugs, “if that’s your thing.” 

This time he’s definitely smirking and the tightness in Erwin’s chest increases. 

The herd has come to a halt not far from the out buildings and Levi makes his way over to talk to the herd boy as Erwin cautiously approaches the camels. There’s nothing filthy about them and they regard Erwin with a level of arrogant disdain that not even Levi can muster. Erwin is utterly charmed by their soft brown eyes, long white lashes and haughty expression, and when he reaches up to scratch one on the nose he’s surprised by the gentle softness of its mouth. 

As Levi chats to the herd boy, Erwin takes a million pictures of the camels, only stopping when the memory card of his camera is full. 

“So it is your thing then?” 

Levi saunters over to Erwin’s side and watches with obvious amusement as he scratches one of the camels behind the ear 

“Apparently so. Do you think anyone would notice if I took one home with me?” 

Levi rolls his eyes. 

“Idiot. Come on, we have to go now. It’ll be dark by the time we get back.” 

The sun is slanting low over the ancient city as they return to the Landrover. Levi locks up the storeroom and Erwin takes a last long look over the ruins, letting the sense of wonder settle into his memory.

Levi reappears at his side and they watch in silence as the herd of white camels  
melts back into the ruins. Erwin feels stupidly, unaccountably, sad as they disappear. Levi shuffles by his side and he feels a sharp elbow digging into his ribs.

“Come on, lets go.” 

“Yes, sorry,” Erwin’s not really sure what he’s apologising for, so he huffs out a short laugh, “I don’t really want to go. It’s been wonderful to finally see the site after all this time. Thanks for showing me around, Levi, I really appreciate it.” 

He glances down at Levi. Levi doesn’t respond. Just runs his hand through his hair and looks away frowning.

“I wish I could stay longer,” Erwin mutters, more to himself than to Levi.

Levi makes a small noise that might be annoyance or indifference or regret, then he turns away and climbs into the Landrover.

~~

Levi falls silent as they drive away from the site, stubbornly resisting Erwin’s attempts at conversation. Eventually Erwin gives up and, slumping down into the uncomfortable seat of the ancient Landrover, drifts off into a fitful sleep.

~~

Erwin wakes with a start as the Landrover draws to a halt and the engine cuts out. He has no idea how long he’s been asleep or where they are but he’s immediately aware of the tension in the man sitting beside him. 

“Something wrong Levi?” he scrubs his hands across his eyes, trying to focus “Why have we stopped? Engine trouble?”

“No.” 

Levi’s hands are gripping the steering wheel tightly, one finger tapping impatiently. 

It’s then that Erwin notices the curious shifting quality in the light, he’d taken it for dusk but it’s changing too quickly. Levi is staring intently out of the chipped windscreen of the Landrover, brows furrowed. Erwin follows his gaze. The Hauran stretches out in front of them barren and rocky, but the horizon has disappeared, replaced with a towering wall of dark orange cloud that’s moving fast towards them. Erwin’s still half asleep and he can’t figure out what in the hell he’s looking at. 

“What’s that?” he asks, not caring if he sounds stupid. 

“Dust storm,” Levi replies, finger tapping a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel. 

“Umm…is that a problem?” 

Levi shrugs. 

“We can’t drive through it, I won’t be able to see shit and it’ll just fuck up the engine.” 

He sits silently, staring intently at the approaching storm, apparently weighing their options, finger still tapping. He appears to be more irritated than concerned by the storm, though admittedly with Levi, whose face settles naturally into a frown, it’s hard to tell. Erwin is beginning to wonder if the storm is more of a danger than Levi is letting on, when he finally reaches a decision. 

“Ok. We’ll go back to the site, with any luck the warden will still be there, if not, we’ll just have to take our chances.”

Levi turns the key in the ignition, the engine stutters into life and he swings the vehicle around and sets off back in the direction of the site. Erwin keeps his eye on the wing mirror, watching as the orange wall of dust races across the desert behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it’s not as remote as I’ve made out, Umm el-Jimal is more or less exactly as described and there really did used to be an amazing herd of white camels that was kept among the ruins. I don't know if they’re still there. Dust storms are fairly common in that part of the Hauran and although they’re not much of a danger they’re a major inconvenience and you do have to batten down hatches. Oh and if Levi really was a field worker, he’d know better than to climb on the archaeology, even if he is a short ass ;)


	6. The storm

They reach Umm el-Jimal ahead of the dust storm. The light has faded to a dull amber glow and the wind is already picking up, scattering dust devils through the ruins. The site is deserted, the warden and site assistants have gone and the offices and visitor centre are locked and boarded to protect them from the approaching storm. 

Levi swears under his breath and although Erwin doesn’t understand the words, his frustration is quite clear. 

“Is there another village ahead we could drive to?” Erwin suggests tentatively, feeling hopelessly out of his depth. 

“Not one we’d reach in time.” 

Levi is sitting behind the steering wheel of the Landrover frowning at the storm moving inexorably towards them. He still looks more annoyed than concerned and Erwin is beginning to wish he shared his confidence. The vast cloud of dust blotting out the horizon looks impossibly huge and Erwin has no idea what to expect when it hits them. 

As if he’s picked up on Erwin’s anxiety, Levi is suddenly moving, leaning over into the back of the vehicle and pulling out bags and boxes. 

“It’s fine,” he reassures, “we’ll stay here. I’ve got the key for the finds store. It’ll do for the night. Here, take these.” 

“You think it’ll last all night?” Erwin asks as Levi dumps a large kit bag into his arms. 

Levi scrunches his nose up and squints out of the side window tilting his head to peer up at the towering clouds. 

“Maybe. Maybe more, maybe less,” he shrugs. “Come on, lets go. Here, take this.” He pulls off his keffiyeh and hands it to Erwin. “Cover your face, that dust stings like shit.” 

“But what will you…” Erwin starts, but Levi is out of the Landrover slamming the door behind him before he can finish. 

The air is already thick with dust when Erwin steps out of the vehicle and even with the scarf covering his face the dust has coated the inside of his nose and mouth and his eyes are watering by the time he’s crossed the short distance to the outbuilding. 

“Okay?” Levi asks once they’re inside. 

“Yes, fine, I think,” Erwin replies, coughing.

“Good. Stay here.” 

And with that he’s gone, leaving Erwin to rub the sand from his eyes and take in their accommodation for the night. The finds store is basic but weather tight, breeze block built, with a single window. One wall is stacked with tools, the other with racks of finds boxes and samples. There’s a dirty sink in one corner that’s clearly been used for pot washing, a table covered with plans and scraps of permatrace, a single chair, and not much else. A bare light bulb hangs from the ceiling and when Erwin hits the switch by the door it flickers into dim life. 

The storm is directly overhead now and when Erwin peers out the window the ruins have disappeared, and even the Landrover is barely visible, obscured by a dense cloud of swirling dust. The wind has risen to a ferocious pitch and the weird orange light morphs into a dense foggy white before everything is plunged into pitch darkness. 

Levi has only been gone a few minutes, but Erwin is already starting to worry when he returns with a couple more bags slung over his shoulder and carrying a canister of water. He’s covered in dust and when he opens the door just enough to slip inside, the wind howls in behind him. 

“Okay.” 

It’s more of a statement than a question this time, but Erwin nods anyway. 

Levi dumps the bags and water canister in the corner before making his way over to the sink.

“We can wash here but don’t drink the water from the tap, it’s not treated.”

He stops, wrinkling his nose in annoyance as he peers into the sink.

“Tch. Fucking disgusting, I’ve told those filthy brats a million times...” 

He trails off into Arabic and continues muttering furiously as he spends the next five minutes cleaning the sink, apparently oblivious to the storm howling overhead. Erwin watches in amusement, wondering who the brats are, suspecting they’re fieldwork students and excavation volunteers. Whoever they are, he decides he wouldn’t like to be in their shoes next time Levi catches up with them.

Erwin’s amusement turns to something else all together when Levi, finally deeming the sink sufficiently clean, pulls his shirt off over his head and begins to wash. Erwin’s mouth goes dry as Levi leans over the sink, the muscles in his back shifting and flexing. His body is compact, wiry and muscular, broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips that Erwin could almost span with his hands. He watches Levi washing the dust from his face and neck, tilting his head back as he scoops the water up in his hands and runs them over his throat. Erwin’s fingers twitch involuntarily and he can feel the blood draining from his head and into another part of his anatomy. Levi splashes water over his face one last time before draining and refilling the sink, dunking his whole head into the water to wash the dust from his hair. He shakes his head like a dog when he straightens up, sending droplets flying. Water drips from his hair, running down his back leaving trails in the dust that has worked its way under his shirt and clings to his skin. He changes the water again and begins on his torso, methodically working his way up over his arms and shoulders, somehow managing to reach behind him to wash away the dust trails snaking down his back. Erwin knows he’s staring but he’s powerless to look away. He’s rooted to the spot, all thought of the storm forgotten. He’s so captivated that he’s still standing staring, when Levi drains the sink for the last time, crosses the room towards him and drops to his knees at Erwin’s feet. Erwin stumbles backwards before his brain engages and he realises that Levi has stooped to rummage in one of the bags that Erwin carried in from the Landrover.

“Your turn,” he says, as he pulls a fresh shirt from the bag.

Erwin stares dumbly, entranced by a drop of water sliding from Levi’s hair and trickling down his neck to pool in the hollow of his collarbone. 

“What?” 

His throat so tight he can barely speak.

Levi glances up at him with that look that Erwin is becoming all too familiar with, the one that suggests he’s talking to an idiot or a child. 

“To wash,” he explains patiently, “you’re covered in dust. You do wash where you come from, right?”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry.” 

Not for the first time, Erwin has to wonder at Levi’s apparent ability to look down his nose at him despite the fact that he is a good foot shorter than him and is currently kneeling on the floor at his feet. Still, at least it shakes him from his stupor. 

Erwin feels distinctly self-conscious as he makes his way over to the small sink but Levi is studiously ignoring him, busy occupied unpacking things from the bags on the floor. Erwin doesn’t have a change of clothes so he has to make do with shaking the dust from his shirt as best he can. He’s grateful for the cool water though and his composure returns as he splashes it over his face and chest, washing away the sweat and the dust. 

By the time Erwin is as clean as the limited facilities allow, the storm has abated somewhat. The pitch darkness has lightened to a dull orange glow but the world outside the window is still shrouded by a swirling curtain of dust and sand. Levi has set up a small gas stove in one corner and is sitting back against the wall waiting for a kettle of water to boil. Various tins and plates are set neatly by the stove and something that looks like a roll of bedding is propped against the wall. 

Erwin raises his brows. “You’re very well prepared. Was all that in the Landrover?”

“Survey vehicle,” Levi answers by way of explanation, “that’s where I keep my gear.”

Levi continues ignoring both Erwin and the storm and busies himself over the stove, humming to himself under his breath. Occasionally Erwin catches snatches of words. 

“Can I help?” he offers but Levi just shakes his head, so he sits and watches as Levi prepares a simple meal with practised efficiency. He’s either genuinely unphased by their unscheduled overnight stop, or very good at concealing whatever he might be feeling. Erwin’s not sure which, but he finds something calming and reassuring in the smaller man’s presence. 

They eat sitting on the floor; rice, beans and olives with the remainder of the flatbread left over from lunch, and hot sweet mint tea. The storm has started to ease off but a steady trickle of sand is still filtering in under the door, fanning across the floor. They eat in silence, broken only by Erwin thanking Levi for the food. By the time they’ve finished their meal and cleared up the plates, the storm is passing over, the odd amber glow fading into the more familiar darkness of falling dusk. 

Levi unwraps the roll of bedding, lays it out against the wall and seats himself at one end, leaving Erwin hovering uncertainly by the cluttered table. Somehow it seems wrong to take the only chair while Levi is seated on the floor, but sitting down on the bedding seems overly familiar in a way that sitting on the bare floor to eat had not. Levi, however, appears to be unconcerned with such niceties. 

“Sit down, you’re making the place look untidy.” 

He gestures to the opposite end of the bedroll. Erwin sits, swallowing his misgivings and his pride as his knees crack loudly when he lowers himself inelegantly to the floor. Levi makes no attempt to hide his amusement. 

“What age are you, old man?”

“Thirty eight” Erwin replies, rubbing his knees rather ruefully, “sorry, I’m not used to sitting on the floor.” 

“Tch,” Levi tuts. “Too much time behind a desk. You need to get out more.” 

Erwin opens his mouth to protest before realising that, actually, Levi’s right. He’s exhausted and aching, but the day spent walking among the ruins has left him feeling more alive than he has for months. Though he can’t help wondering if the unusual exhilaration is as much to do with the company as the change of scenery

“You’re right,” Erwin admits sheepishly, “I need more exercise. It’s been good to get out, I’m glad I came.”

Levi leans over and pulls one of the smaller bags into his lap, out of which he produces a bottle of arak. Reaching for the tin mugs they’d used earlier for tea, he pours some water into them and then adds the spirit, the pungent scent of anise filling the room. 

“Here,” he says, handing one to Erwin, “this’ll help your ancient bones.” 

“I’m not that old,” Erwin pouts, as he stares dubiously at the odd milky liquid swirling in the mug. He sips tentatively, coughing as the sharpness of the aniseed hits the back of his throat. It’s not unpleasant though and after a second more successful sip he decides he likes the warming sensation of the spirit. 

“So how old are you?” Erwin asks, keen to pick up the dropped thread of the conversation. He’s intensely curious about Levi’s age; he looks like he could be anything from early twenties to mid thirties. His sharp features and small frame make him look deceptively young, but the shadows around his eyes suggest he is considerably older than he first appears. 

“Not as old as you obviously,” Levi smirks over the rim of his mug.

The reply only heightens Erwin’s curiosity and encourages him to try a different tack.

“Where are you from?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Levi appears genuinely confused by the question.

“Where were you born?” Erwin clarifies. 

“What does it matter?” Levi replies, a small crease furrowing between his brows. “This is where I am now.”

The conversation ebbs and flows; Levi proves to be reticent about revealing much about his background, replying to most of Erwin’s questions with evasive answers or, more often than not, deftly turning the question back on Erwin himself. In fact he proves to be remarkably adept at extracting information from Erwin. By the time Erwin has drained his mug, and Levi has poured him a second measure of arak, he knows where Erwin was born and raised, that his father died when he was a child, that he has no siblings, that he always wanted a dog as a child but was only allowed a goldfish, where he went to university, that he studied chemistry before developing an interest in archaeological dating, that he had once been engaged but broke it off, that he has never been engaged since, that he lives alone and has an ancient car that refuses to start in cold weather. 

“And no wife.” Levi adds, fixing Erwin with that shrewd grey gaze. 

“No,” Erwin replies slowly, “no wife.” 

Erwin doesn’t ask the obvious corresponding question. He doesn’t want to hear the answer. But the fact that Levi has recalled this detail from their conversation the previous day makes his chest tighten.

Silence settles between them, stretching awkwardly, until Levi stands abruptly, crossing the room with swift steps and scooping something from the floor by the tool rack. He turns back to Erwin, crouching in front of him and extending one hand towards him. At first Erwin thinks it’s an olive leaf lying in his hand, until the leaf shifts and sways, rising up on spindly legs, antennae twitching. It’s a tiny mantis, looking for all the world like a minuscule alien from a cheap ‘50s B movie that has landed on Levi’s hand. 

“Give me your hand.” 

Erwin holds out his hand and Levi carefully transfers the tiny creature into his palm. 

“A mantis!” he exclaims, genuinely fascinated. “I’ve never seen one before.” 

“Faras al nabi,” Levi explains, “the horse of the Prophet.” 

“Why is it called that?” Erwin looks up from the curious insect to Levi, who is still crouched in front of him, apparently enjoying his obvious delight. 

“Well, I’m not so certain of the origins,” Levi frowns thoughtfully. He places one finger on Erwin’s palm allowing the mantis to climb onto it. “It’s something to do with al isra wal-mi'raj, a night journey the Prophet took. I think it's because he was taken up into the heavens on a horse with wings, so popular tales begun to speculate that the horse looked like a praying mantis. It's just folktales, really."

He lifts the mantis up to Erwin’s eye level turning his hand so Erwin can see her more clearly. Her green head swivels, eyes never leaving Erwin. They continue watching the mantis, passing her carefully from hand to hand, until Levi scoops her gently from Erwin’s hands and returns her to the sanctuary of the tool rack. 

“What a beautiful thing,” Erwin smiles. He knows its ridiculous but he’s utterly charmed by the careful, gentle way Levi handled the small creature.

“It’s late, we should sleep.” Levi announces suddenly as he washes his hands at the sink, back turned to Erwin. 

“Yes, that’s probably wise,” Erwin agrees but it takes some effort to keep his tone neutral and ignore the fluttering in his stomach. There is only one narrow bedroll and if it is to accommodate both of them there will be no room for personal space. 

“You can sleep there.” Levi nods to the bedroll where Erwin is still seated.

“Where will you sleep?” Erwin begins to protest, trying and failing to ignore the slight sting of disappointment. 

“I’ll be fine.” Levi cuts him off as he lifts a bundle from the pile of gear they carried in from the Landrover. At first it appears to be a sheepskin rug, but when Levi shakes it out, two sleeves appear. He flips it over and the reverse side is dark red felt, edged and embroidered with elaborate twists of black braid. 

“What’s that?” Erwin asks curiously.

“Shepherd’s coat,” Levi replies. “The shepherds and goatherds wear them when they sleep out in the dessert with their flocks. It gets cold at night. Not many places make them any more, but you can still get them in Mafraq.”

He turns the odd garment inside out, sheepskin on the inside, felt on the outside, slips his arms into the sleeves and wraps it around himself, almost disappearing inside. The effect is striking. 

“It’s beautiful,” Erwin reaches out tentatively and runs his fingers over the elaborate embroidery. 

“You should see what the goats wear,” Levi replies. 

“Excuse me?” Erwin looks up, hand frozen on the hem of the coat. 

“The goats,” Levi continues conversationally, settling down on the floor opposite Erwin’s bed, “they wear bras.”

“What?” Erwin is beginning to wonder if the arak has gone to his head. 

“The goatherds put bras on the goats.”

Now Erwin is convinced he’s drunk. Or perhaps it’s some kind of delayed heat exhaustion? 

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“They milk the goats,” Levi explains casually, folding his keffiyeh behind his head to form a rough pillow, “and to stop the kids suckling, they put bras on them.” 

“You’re kidding me right?” Erwin scoffs incredulously, coming to the conclusion that he is far from drunk and that Levi is quite simply taking the piss. He peers down at him trying to detect the tell tale tilt of narrow brows, the smallest hint of a smile. Nothing. 

“You think I’d make up shit like that?” Levi replies in mock indignation. “What kind of a deviant do you think I am?”

Erwin doesn’t answer that. 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously. No fucking lie.” 

“Well,” Erwin laughs, still unconvinced, “you learn something new every day I guess.”

“You’ve got a lot to learn,” Levi comments dryly. “Sleep now,” he adds with finality. “Turn the light off.” 

Erwin reaches up to flick the switch and then slides under the thin covers fully clothed. The room is pitch dark and though Levi is lying only a few feet away, all Erwin can make out is the dim outline of his back. 

“Goodnight night.” 

“Tasbah 'ala kheir,” Levi murmurs in response.

Erwin lies silently for a moment watching the slight rise and fall of Levi’s shoulder as he breathes. 

“Levi…” Erwin hesitates, unsure what he’s trying to say. “Thank you. I really appreciate…well…everything.” 

He reaches out one hand, fingers stopping, hesitating, just short of Levi’s back.  
Levi doesn’t reply. Erwin doesn’t touch. But he hears the soft exhalation of breath in the darkness. 

* * *

Erwin wakes shivering in the night, the storm has passed and the dust settled. The sky is clear and a bright moon is shining in through the window, veiled in red dust. It’s cold, much colder than Erwin could have imagined. 

Levi lies sleeping beside him, he’s turned towards him in the night. One hand is curled loosely by his cheek, barely an inch from Erwin’s hand. Erwin lies still and watches him breathe, the way his dark hair feathers over the furrow of his brow, frowning even in sleep. His lips are parted and Erwin can just feel the ghost of his breath against his wrist. He’s burrowed into the warmth of the shepherd’s coat, red felt and black braid framing his face. 

And Erwin wants so badly. Wants to touch so desperately. The desire is so strong, so overwhelming, and Erwin is so powerless to resist. He is utterly at the mercy of this desire, helpless in the face of it. Without moving, without breathing, he stretches out one finger and brushes the tip against Levi’s hand. 

Erwin still doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, when dark lashes flutter open, grey eyes focusing in the dim light filtering in through the window. They lie still, frozen in the moonlight, Erwin’s finger resting on Levi’s hand, Levi’s gaze resting on Erwin’s face

Erwin doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, when Levi turns his hand over, palm upwards, and curls his fingers around Erwin’s own.

“Your hands are cold.”

Levi’s gaze shifts from Erwin’s face to their hands, linked loosely between them. He traces Erwin’s knuckles with his thumb, traversing the ridges and furrows, slow and steady, mapping the terrain. 

And Erwin doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, when Levi lifts his hand to his lips and kisses each finger in turn, lingering over each knuckle, the tip of his nose brushing lightly against Erwin’s wrist. He turns his head, laying his cheek along the back of Erwin’s hand for a moment before replacing it on the cover crumpled between them. He looks at Erwin’s hand, narrow brows pulled low, as though he’s thinking, deciding. 

Erwin doesn’t, move doesn’t breathe, just waits, watches, willing him closer. 

And then he moves. Shrugging out of the felt coat, pushing himself up onto one elbow, leaning in so he can look down at Erwin. He’s still scowling, hair falling forward over his face, but there’s a tilt to his lips that is all promise. Erwin is so intent on watching Levi’s face, on those fierce grey eyes, that he startles when Levi brings his hand up to his cheek, his breath leaving his lungs in an unsteady rush. He can feel the faint rasp of stubble as Levi runs his hand over his jaw. 

“You need to shave,” he frowns. 

“I know, sorry.” 

Erwin’s voice is hoarse with sleep and longing. 

Levi’s thumb finds his lips, tracing over them slowly, carefully. It’s rough and calloused, but his touch is so gentle that Erwin’s can’t stop the sigh that escapes from his lips. That seems to amuse Levi, he barks out a short sharp laugh then without warning he dips down and his lips meet Erwin’s. Erwin freezes for a moment before melting into the kiss. It’s sweet, gentle, over in a second. Levi pulls away, gazing down at him one brow lifted, in silent question. Erwin swallows, throat tight. 

“Please.” 

It’s all he can manage. 

Levi leans in again and this time the kiss lingers, deepens, it’s still gentle, tender, but there’s a determination there that takes Erwin’s breath away. Levi’s lips part, soft and warm, and Erwin aches to be consumed by him. He tastes of aniseed. 

Erwin threads his hand into Levi’s hair and it’s so much softer than he had imagined, sliding through his fingers like water, though he can still feel the grit of the desert against his scalp.

This time, when Levi pulls away, the kisses continue; down the side of Erwin’s neck, pausing at the sensitive skin behind his ear, slowly over his throat, pushing the collar of his shirt away to reach the sharp jut of his collar bones. And that’s where Levi stops. Settling into the crook of Erwin’s shoulder with his lips resting against his throat. 

Erwin lies still until he’s sure Levi is not going to move then he slides his arms around him, one hand cupping the back of his neck. His body is solid, heavy and warm against Erwin’s side and he tilts his head to plant a kiss in his hair. 

“Are you comfortable down there?”

Levi hums against his throat.

“I will be if you don’t fucking fidget.”

Erwin smiles in the dark and despite the desperate heat and pressure pooling in his lap, he doesn’t fidget. 

* * *

Erwin wakes before dawn with Levi’s head on his shoulder and an ache in his chest. 

They leave as the sun is rising, casting long shadows through the ruins. Once they have left the site behind and the desert stretches out before them, empty to the horizon, Levi places one hand on the seat between them and looks pointedly at Erwin. The invitation is clear. Erwin tilts his head and smiles, placing his hand in Levi’s, twining their fingers together. It’s an innocent gesture, but there’s a closeness to it that surprises Erwin, an intimacy that grows as the miles fall away behind them. They drive like that, hands clasped together, Levi withdrawing his hand and replacing it on the steering wheel when they pass through a village, or meet another vehicle. Holding and unholding, all the way back to the city. 

* * *

The ache in Erwin’s chest intensifies over the next two days and when Levi drives him to the airport to catch his flight he can barely breathe. 

“I’ll call,” he manages to choke out at the departure gate.

“You won’t,” Levi states flatly, he glances at Erwin, and looks away.

“I will. I promise.” 

Erwin is aching to touch him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t call?” 

“Don’t promise.”

Erwin reaches out one hand, tentatively, one finger brushing the back of Levi’s wrist. The slightest touch.

“I will.”

Levi exhales a sharp breath, turns, and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind and supportive comments on this fic <3 And thank you especially to the wonderful [Prosotankutu](http://prosotankutu.tumblr.com/) for her absolutely [stunning art](http://prosotankutu.tumblr.com/post/147801062085/levi-has-wrapped-his-keffiyeh-around-his-head) for Chapter 4. I have no words to tell you how much I love this.
> 
>   
> [](http://prosotankutu.tumblr.com/post/147801062085/levi-has-wrapped-his-keffiyeh-around-his-head)
> 
> Also the hand holding in the Landrover at the end is shamelessly borrowed from the haunting art work [A Hands Routine](http://www.omarmismar.com/a-hands-routine-2/) by the Lebanese artist [Omar Mismar](http://www.omarmismar.com/). 


	7. Promise

Erwin flicks his phone off flight safe mode as soon they land and waits impatiently for his cell to pick up the network. The phone reconnects and buzzes repeatedly as he disembarks, downloading a days worth of texts, most of which are from Hanji, his colleague, friend, whatever the hell Hanji is. 

_Ur back tomorrow right?_

_When’s ur flight in?_

_I’ll pick u up._

_As long as ur not smuggling antiquities back_

_Ur not are you?_

_Or carpets_

_Tho u get amazing ones in madaba_

_Did u go to madaba?_

_Did u see the map of Palestine mosaic its stunning_

Hanji texts like they talk; too fast, all at once, and never letting anyone else get a word in edgewise. Erwin shakes his head, he’s tired and jet lagged and he knows they’re going to be hard work but he’s grateful to have a lift home from the airport.

The phone finally stops buzzing as he reaches border control. He stands in line and opens his address book. There it is. The new first name in his contact list.

Levi **Ackerman**.

He feels slightly lightheaded, probably just tiredness from the travel, but he has to take several deep breaths before he hits the number. 

The call connects; rings, rings again, and keeps ringing until it switches to voicemail. Erwin’s heart sinks momentarily, before leaping into his throat as he realises the voice he is listening to is Levi’s. The message is in Arabic but it’s unmistakably him. It throws Erwin and he forgets what he had intended to say. He’s still standing there with the phone to his ear when the call disconnects and the line moves forward. 

By the time Erwin has cleared immigration and made it to the baggage hall he’s managed to compose his thoughts and his message. He redials Levi’s number as he waits by the baggage carousel, prepared for the voicemail this time. Levi’s voice curls in his ear, the words foreign but the tone familiar. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine Levi standing beside him. He can’t. Levi would seem out of place here. The message ends and the tone sounds.

“Levi…” he starts, but the carefully composed words have flown from his head. “It’s Erwin. I’m just calling to say I’m back and…well…because I said I’d call. I promised.” It sounds childish. “Anyway, I just wanted to say…umm…thank you and”

The recording cuts off before he can embarrass himself further. 

Erwin stands, staring at his phone, running his thumb absently over Levi’s name and trying to ignore the pain in his chest. When he looks up he finds the baggage hall almost empty, his suitcase the last one on the carousel. He picks it up and exits arrivals. 

Hanji is there waiting, fidgeting from foot to foot, a jittery blur of movement. People are casting sideways glances in their direction, giving them a noticeably wide berth. 

“Erwin!” they yell, waving wildly, launching themselves through the crowd and flinging their arms around his neck. 

“How’d it go?” they demand, disentangling themselves and grabbing Erwin’s laptop case from him. He relinquishes it without protest. 

“So! Tell me all about it Erwin, have you fallen in love?”

Erwin gapes at Hanji, mouth hanging open.

“What? Don’t look at me like that? Have you fallen in love with the Middle East? Isn’t it amazing?”

Erwin shakes his head and laughs, weary but genuine.

“Hi Hanji, good to see you too. How’s the department?”

“Still full of boring fuckers playing petty academic politics. Nile’s angling for vice dean and knowing him he’ll get it. Pompous ass. Anyway, never mind that, tell me all about it, where’d you go? Did you see…”

They start rattling off the names of sites, tumbling over questions without waiting for Erwin to answer. For as long as anyone can remember, Hanji has spent at least half the year doing fieldwork in the Middle East. No one is entirely sure how many projects they’re involved in, but they manage to keep a modest stream of funding trickling in so no one complains too much. If it wasn’t for the funding and Hanji’s vast network of contacts all over the Middle East, Erwin is sure they’d have been out on their ear long ago. It’s certainly not their publications record that keeps Hanji in post. It’s not that they don’t publish, Hanji writes screeds, but they stubbornly shun the top international periodicals in favour of modest open access journals and long rambling blog posts. 

_“Academic publishing’s a fucking racket Erwin, buggered if I’m going to line bloody Elsevier’s pockets.”_

Hanji talks all the way back to the city, Erwin settles into the passenger seat and watches the lights of the freeway slipping past, feeling the pieces of his life slotting back into place. Somehow they don’t quite fit. Something is absent, missing, something that Erwin hadn’t noticed before.


	8. Out of kilter

Erwin reassembles the pieces of his life as best he can, settling back into some kind of routine. 

It takes him almost a week to clear his inbox and catch up with the departmental admin that has backed up in his absence. Then it’s back to overseeing the lab work, writing reports, working on funding applications, liaising with project partners, occasional lecturing. He tracks down the mistake in his calculations that Levi pointed out at the conference, recalibrates the dating sequence and circulates the new figures, acknowledging and thanking L. Ackerman, University of Jordan, for identifying the error. He runs most nights after work, plays the occasional game of squash with his colleague Nile, relishing the opportunity to exercise his ruthless competitive streak, and at the weekend he meets his friend Mike for beers or a movie. To all intents and purposes Erwin’s life continues along the same smooth, regular track as it has for years. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Nothing is the same and everything is out of kilter. Erwin feels like a stranger in his own life, going through motions that no longer have any meaning. And all the time he’s haunted by the scent of cardamom, sharp grey eyes, small strong hands, the dust of the desert on his fingertips, the hot press of determined lips, the bitter taste of aniseed. 

He continually flicks through the photographs he took, realising to his bitter regret that Levi had been remarkably adapt at keeping out of range of his camera, but there are a few. One taken when they stopped for lunch at Umm el-Jimal, Levi is sitting above Erwin and peering down his nose at him as he so often seemed to do. Another taken in the Landrover, Levi side eyeing him, lips curved up in that familiar smirk. He’d given Erwin hell for taking that picture and Erwin had just laughed. The memory of it chokes him now. There’s one last picture of Umm el-Jimal that he sets as the lockscreen of his phone, and the desktop of his mac; it’s a view of the ruins with a tiny figure in the distance, easy to over look, but Erwin knows it’s there, and he knows it’s Levi.

A fortnight passes and there’s no reply to his voicemail. Erwin tells himself there’s a hundred reasons why Levi hasn’t replied. He might be away doing field work. Or busy working in the cafe. The message may not have saved. It might have been deleted before Levi could hear it. He could be one of those infuriating people who never checks their voicemail. 

Or he may have no intention of returning Erwin’s call. He may have forgotten him already. 

Erwin tells himself it would be simple enough to leave another message. Levi did give him his number after all. He wouldn’t have done that unless he wanted Erwin to call, right? Unless he never had any intention of answering and that was just his way of letting Erwin down gently, knowing he’d never have to see him again. Erwin’s thumb hovers over Levi’s number for days but he doesn’t call because nothing is simple any more. 

It’s been three weeks and Erwin decides to text. A text is more casual, less personal somehow, a good way to make contact without being too pushy. As much as he longs to hear Levi’s voicemail message again, he doesn’t trust himself to speak and he no longer knows what he would say anyway. A text will be easier. 

_Levi, hope you’re well…_

Too formal. 

_Hey, remember me?_

God no. 

_Hi Levi, how are you?_

Maybe. 

_It would be good to hear from you._

Too desperate. 

But he is. 

_Levi I can’t stop thinking about you. Every minute of every god damn day I keep thinking about you. I can’t concentrate, I can’t sleep, I don’t know what I’m doing any more. I miss you so much I can hardly breathe. I want to hold your hand again. I want you to curse me for the idiot I am. I just want to hold you._

_I wish I’d never met you._

_I miss you Levi._

It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. He’s a grown man behaving like a lovesick teenager pining over a holiday romance. It’s nauseating really. He must be having a midlife crisis. Except it doesn’t feel like that. This feeling, this pain, it’s more real than anything Erwin has felt for the last fifteen years. Even breaking up with Marie hadn’t hurt like this. It’s a deep visceral pain, an absence, like a limb that has been lopped off, but continues to ache long after it’s gone. 

The message he sends reads: 

_Hi Levi, how are you? I wonder if we could talk about the petrographic analysis? Erwin_

He is an adult, professional. He sends the text and places his phone calmly back in his pocket, then he turns his attention back to his email. Erwin stares blankly at the screen, conscious of nothing but the ache in his chest and his shortness of breath. He scrabbles in his pocket for his phone. 

_it would be really really good to hear from you levi_

He hits send then places his head in his hands. 

Erwin waits but there’s no reply, and with each day that passes he feels like something inside him is shrinking and dying.

* * *

It’s Hanji that notices. Of course. Nothing escapes Hanji’s beady eye. They march into Erwin’s office one afternoon, planting a coffee in front of him and perching on the edge of his desk, arms folded. 

“Coffee,” they announce unnecessarily. 

“Thanks Hanji." 

Erwin takes a wary sip. It’s lukewarm, bitter and loaded with sugar but it’s definitely caffeine and he’s barely slept for the last fortnight so he’s grateful for small mercies. 

"So, what’s up Erwin?" 

"What do you mean what’s up?” Erwin composes his face into a polished expression of neutrality. “Nothing is up." 

"Don’t give me that face Erwin,” Hanji scoffs, snapping their fingers in front of his nose. "It doesn’t wash with me.“ 

"Honestly Hanji I have no idea…" 

Erwin spreads his hands on the desk in an open gesture but Hanji cuts him off short. 

"Bullshit Erwin. You’ve been moping around like god knows what ever since you got back." 

They push their glasses up on top of their head, never a good sign, and peer at Erwin closely. Erwin swallows, dropping his gaze to the desk, all pretence of indifference crumbling under Hanji’s shrewd gaze. 

How can he explain? How can he even begin to explain to Hanji something he can’t even explain to himself? How can he explain something he has no words for? He’s still searching for a response when Hanji supplies one for him. 

"Don’t worry. I know how you feel." 

"You do?" 

Erwin has never been party to the intimate details of Hanji’s personal life and he’s not at all sure he’s ready for the revelation. 

"Yes. It gets to some people." 

"It does?" 

"It gets under your skin." 

"Ummmm…." 

Erwin’s beginning to strongly suspect that their wires have crossed. "What does?" 

"The Middle East. It gets to some people like that. It got to me." 

They shrug and Erwin can’t help admiring their honesty. 

"It’s like you go out there and then you come back expecting everything to be the same,” Hanji continues, “only it isn’t. It makes you look at things differently. Reevaluate your priorities. Think about what you want to do with your life.”

Hanji’s not looking at him anymore and though they’re clearly talking at cross purposes, somehow, their words strike a chord with Erwin. 

“Is this the voice of experience speaking?” he asks quietly. 

“Ha! Yes,” Hanji huffs out a soft laugh, quite unlike their usual high pitched shriek. “I guess you could say that." 

"So what do you recommend Dr Zoe?" 

"Well,” Hanji smiles wryly, “you could always go back…" 

Erwin smiles weakly at Hanji. He’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t already crossed his mind. But he knows he’s being foolish. There is nothing to go back to. Levi is already in his past. He knows that now.

It doesn’t stop him from checking his phone a dozen times a day though.

* * *

For a moment Erwin can’t figure out what woke him. He turns over, still more than half asleep. His phone is lit up on the cabinet by his bed. Through the fog of sleep Erwin realises that the noise that woke him up was a text alert and he sits up so quickly the blood rushes to his head. He grabs the phone and squints through a dizzy haze at the message on the lock screen. 

_Hey. What’s your Skype? L_

There’s a long moment when he thinks he’s dreaming, but no; it’s 3am and he’s sitting in the dark, with his heart hammering in his throat, staring at a text message from Levi. His hands are shaking as he unlocks the phone and it’s probably just as well he’s too groggy to think straight. 

_Levi good to hear from you! How are you? Would be great to Skype. I’m erwin.smith_

Erwin hits send and waits. 

He wakens in the morning with his phone still in his hand, a Skype alert on the lock screen. 

_lackerman83 sends a contact request_


	9. Contact

Erwin lies on his back and stares at his phone. 

_lackerman83 sends a contact request_

His heart is hammering and he wants to pinch himself to make sure he's not dreaming. He can’t quite believe this is real but his phone assures him it’s 07.04 am and the light filtering in through the blinds strongly suggests that he is, indeed, awake. 

_lackerman83 sends a contact request_

Levi has contacted him. He can feel his face splitting into the biggest, most ridiculous, shit eating grin, but he can't help it and he doesn't care. Levi has contacted him, and in that moment nothing else matters. 

A thousand questions race through his head. What time is it where Levi is? Around three or four in the afternoon? Where is he and what’s he doing? He might be at the university or working in the café. Driving somewhere in the Landrover perhaps? Holding someone else hand between the seats? No. Don’t think that. Maybe he’s at home? Erwin is intensely curious to know where Levi lives. Does he live alone? With family? Does he have house mates? Erwin wonders if he has a picture of himself as his Skype icon and his heart leaps at the thought. Idiot. And the 83, what about the 83? What does that mean? Is 83 the year Levi was born? That would make him…Erwin wants to hug his phone…thirty-three, just five years younger that himself. Erwin says a swift and fervent prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in that his hunch is correct. And why has Levi finally contacted him? Why now? Has something changed? Is it possible he missed Erwin’s messages until last night? 

Erwin knows there is only one way to find answers to the myriad questions, but his thumb hovers indecisively over the contact request on his lock screen. Quite apart from the fact that Skype is horrendously flakey on his antiquated phone, something stops him from accepting Levi’s request immediately. He wants to savor this moment, to keep it and hold it close. He has no idea what will come next but part of him wants to hold onto this moment of certainty as long as he can. 

Levi Ackerman has chosen to contact him.

Erwin takes a deep breath and lays the phone against his chest, covering it with his hand. The request is not going to disappear. He is a grown man and he will act like one. He will shower, shave, get dressed, make some coffee and then fire up Skype on his laptop downstairs. There is no hurry. 

He places the phone on the cabinet by the bed and makes his way through to the bathroom, brushing his teeth as he waits for the shower to run hot. He tries to focus on the day ahead as he steps under the water, thinking about the report he’s working on, the e-mails he needs to send, but it’s a lost cause, his thoughts keep circling inexorably back to Levi’s message. 

What if he just wants to talk about work? Erwin did say he wanted to discuss the petrographic analysis after all. What a pathetic lie that was. Perhaps he wants to tell Erwin to leave him alone and stop pestering him? Perhaps he just wants to tell him to fuck off? Erwin has no delusions about Levi’s ability to speak his own mind in the bluntest terms. 

But perhaps….

Perhaps he’s curious? 

Perhaps Levi really _does_ want to talk to him? 

Perhaps he’s lonely and missing Erwin? Perhaps he’s been torn all this time? Unsure whether to contact him or not? Perhaps Levi has spent the last six weeks agonizing over whether to reply to Erwin’s messages? 

The thought of Levi suffering the same crippling doubt and uncertainty that has plagued Erwin’s every waking moment since returning home, robbing him of all peace, is painful beyond belief. It’s simply intolerable.

Erwin bolts from the shower, leaving the water running, and grabs his phone from the table by the bed. His fingers fumble with the passcode and he swears in frustration as it takes two attempts to unlock the phone. 

“Fuck, come on, dammit.” 

Skype takes an age to boot up, and then there it is, the familiar blue screen. He hits the accept contact button without hesitation and only stops to breathe once he is staring at a screen that reads _You and Levi Ackerman are now contacts_. 

Levi’s icon is the default Skype avatar, status set to invisible, and Erwin feels a faint twinge of disappointment before he freezes in horror. His Skype app defaults to video on and he is standing there naked as the day he was born, water pooling around his feet, wet hair dripping all over the carpet. There’s a moment of blind, butt-clenching panic before his brain reengages and he realises that he’s being ridiculous. He hasn’t actually called Levi yet, the camera may be turned on but no one can see him. He says a second brief prayer, wondering if now is the time to renounce his atheism, and turns the camera off just in case. Then he sits down on the bed, heedless of the wet patch he’s leaving on the cover, and types a message. 

_Hi Levi, how are you? It’s really good to hear from you._

He hesitates for a moment, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, before adding. 

_I’ve missed you._

If they’re going to do this, then he might as well start out being honest. 

He hits the blue enter arrow and waits, water running down his back and tricking over his chest in cold rivulets that make his skin pucker into goose flesh. He waits for ten minutes until he’s convinced that Levi really isn’t online and then he returns shivering to the still running shower. 

Once Erwin is washed, dressed and seated at his kitchen table with his laptop and a much needed cup of coffee he opens Skype to investigate Levi’s profile more carefully. As expected, it gives little away. Besides his name, the only additional details are location - Amman, Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, time - UTC +3, and language - Arabic. There’s no home page, birthdate, or any other additional information. Typical Levi. All the information is in English apart from the mood message which is in Arabic إترك رسالة قبل ما تلفن Erwin stares at the script, wondering if the Latin alphabet looks as beautiful to the unfamiliar eye, and then he copies it into google translate. It says _leave a message before calling_. Erwin rolls his eyes and snorts out a quiet laugh. How very Levi. 

Seeing Levi’s anonymous default avatar suddenly makes Erwin acutely self conscious of his own icon; a deeply unflattering departmental head shot. He’s never really paid any attention to it before, but looking at it now, he decides that it accentuates the arch of his nose and makes him look a good ten years older than he actually is. He looks like an old man. He briefly considers changing it to something more casual, or even doing away with it all together, before reluctantly convincing himself he is being vain and ludicrous. Levi already knows what he looks like after all, and besides, Erwin suspects it will make Levi laugh. Or as close to laughing as Levi seems to come; one thin brow and the corner of his mouth curving slowly upwards, a soft huff of breath escaping from parted lips. 

Something in Erwin’s stomach flips over.

* * *

It’s early afternoon when Levi finally replies, but not with a message. Erwin is at his desk in the university when a Skype alert informs him that Levi Ackerman wants to send an image. 

Erwin’s heart almost stops. 

Can this possibly be the same Levi Ackerman who threatened to break his fucking fingers never mind his god damn camera if he took one more fucking picture of him? Surely this must be some kind of imposter?

Erwin accepts the download and finds himself looking at picture of a tiny white cup of coffee. It's perfect. The kind of perfect that could only have been the work of Levi's own hands. Erwin can almost smell the clean spicy heat of the cardamom. He pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of the half drunk mug of cooling instant coffee on his desk and sends it in return. 

There’s a pause. Then a message comes back. 

_Your coffee looks like shit_

Erwin grins. 

_And yours looks wonderful. Of course._ And then he adds _It’s good to hear from you Levi. Really good. How are you?_

 _Bored_ is the unexpected reply.

 _Bored?_

_Yeah. I’m at work it’s slow_

_So you decided to make me coffee? That’s very kind of you Levi :)_

Erwin can’t help smiling, he can almost see Levi rolling his eyes. 

_Don’t flatter yourself old man_

The message is accompanied by a frowning emoji, which makes Erwin laugh out loud. 

_You’re cute when you frown you know._

_Fuck off_

They chat back and forth on text for most of the afternoon, about everything and nothing. Levi breaks off the conversation from time to time to serve customers, allowing Erwin to answer a few e-mails and tinker with his neglected report. 

All the time they’re talking he pictures Levi at the café in downtown Amman, leaning back against the counter, frowning down at his phone, hair falling forward over his eyes. He can see him so clearly, the sleeves of his white shirt turned neatly up over his forearms, crisp black apron tied tightly around his waist, hugging his slender hips. 

Erwin is desperate to speak to Levi, actually _speak_ to him, to hear his voice, but he doesn’t push. And despite his burning desire for answers he doesn’t ask any of the questions that are crowding in his head. For the time being, he is content just to chat. More than content, he’s almost bursting with joy. Levi is as sharp and foul mouthed online as he is in person and their quick fire sparring lights a spark in Erwin’s chest and makes his cheeks burn. They only break off the conversation when it’s time for Levi to close up the café and return home. 

He promises to call back the following day.

Erwin has just shut off Skype when the door of his office bangs open and Nile marches in. He startles guiltily, but Nile appears too beleaguered to notice.  
As is befitting of the Deputy Head of Department, Nile has the look of the perpetually harassed, but this afternoon he looks even more harassed than usual. 

“Erwin, I thought we had a meeting about the research assessment framework at two? What the hell happened to you?” 

Erwin glances at the time on his laptop, it’s after four. 

“Sorry Nile,” he replies smoothly, “something important came up, Skype call from one of the project partners in Jordan.”

It’s not _technically_ a lie. 

“How did the meeting go?” he continues amicably, “do I have any actions?”

He gestures for Nile to take a seat and prepares to zone out. He’ll get a clearer picture of the relevant details from Hanji in a fraction of the time tomorrow. Erwin settles back as Nile drones on, nodding agreeably at relevant points, sympathizing with Nile that he has to work with such a bunch of useless incompetents. And all the time his thoughts drift back to Levi.

* * *

On his way home that night Erwin stops at the mall to buy a new phone and upgrade his contract to unlimited data. He spends the rest of the evening setting up the phone, and making sure all his apps are up to date. By midnight, he’s lying in bed scrolling through the afternoon’s conversation with Levi. The crude barbs and acerbic back-and-forth make him smile all over again and he realizes with regret that he stands as little chance of getting one over on Levi on Skype than he did when they spoke face to face. It doesn’t matter. How could anything possibly matter? 

He sends one last message before he turns out the light to sleep. 

_Night Levi and thank you. E x_


	10. No regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who wanted to know why Levi took so long to reply to Erwin's messages... 
> 
> This is Levi's point of view from the moment Erwin leaves the Middle East until he finally gets his act together and texts Erwin back. He's a fuck up. What else can I say.

Levi walks away without a backward glance. And keeps on walking, one hand clenched into a tight fist in this pocket, all the way back to the short stay car park where he’s left the Landrover. He unlocks the vehicle, climbs up into the driver’s seat and sits forward, resting his forearms against the wheel. He closes his eyes and exhales a long breath. 

Idiot. What a stupid, stupid, fucking idiot.

When he opens his eyes his right hand is still balled into a tight fist. He stretches out his fingers and gazes at the back of his hand, at his wrist, half expecting to see a mark there, a brand, a wound, _something_ , where Erwin’s fingers reached out and grazed his skin. He can still feel it, the lightest touch, full of promise and regret. 

There’s nothing there. 

Not a mark. His hand looks the same as always; small, clean, scarred across the knuckles. The nail of his thumb is black from where he caught it against a rock when he was last out in the field. 

It’s over and done with. There’s nothing there. 

Levi pulls on his seat belt, turns the key in the ignition and drives back to the city. He drops the Landrover at the university before walking back to his apartment, changing his clothes and heading out to work. 

The café is mercifully busy that night, a steady stream of customers keeping him occupied until the back of nine. After that, the stream slows to a trickle and by ten there are only three customers left, seated at a table by the window sharing an argileh. By eleven he has cleaned everything in the café to within an inch of its life. The customers are still there, still smoking and drinking tea. Levi glares at them, hoping they’ll leave. They take no notice, they’re locals, regulars, they know what he’s like; a bad tempered little shit who just happens to make the best coffee on the square. With nothing left to clean, Levi takes out his phone and fiddles with it, checking his e-mail, scrolling through news feeds, but it doesn’t work, it’s not the same. He needs something to occupy his hands; as long as his hands are occupied he doesn’t need to think. That’s always been the way of it. No task is too menial for Levi as long as it keeps his hands busy and his head quiet. With nothing to do he struggles to control the direction of his thoughts. He considers taking the ornamental dallah down from the shelf and polishing it, before remembering that that he used up the last of the brass polish the previous week. 

Last week. Levi wishes he could turn the clock back to last week. Last week before Erwin fucking Smith had waltzed into his café, ordered an Americano and blithely turned his life upside down. 

No. That’s stupid. It’s not like that. 

There’s nothing there. 

Two more customers enter the café just after eleven, they order coffee and disregard Levi’s snarl when they ask for the chequer board. 

Levi sets about cleaning the espresso machine for the second time that evening. Carefully taking it apart piece by piece washing and polishing each part. But even this familiar, methodical task can’t keep his thoughts from turning back to blue eyes and a ready smile. 

Don’t think about it. 

By the time he gets back to his apartment just after midnight, he’s exhausted from the effort of not thinking about Erwin Smith. His shoulders are so tense that his neck is aching and there’s a sharp pain throbbing in his temples. 

He kicks his shoes off at the door, crosses the room and drops onto his bed without even turning the light on. 

Levi has always quietly prided himself on his strength; he is stubborn as hell and strong willed to boot. He can survive pretty much anything life throws at him, and has done so many times over. So why is it then that can he not do this one simple thing? Why can he not turn his thoughts away from Erwin Smith? Why is it that when he closes his eyes all he can see is the hope and desperation that was written all over Erwin’s face when he left him at the departure gate? 

_I’ll call. I will._

Yeah, right. Like he’d believe that. 

_I promise._

But that’s just it. That’s the problem. Levi does believe it. If he believes anything about Erwin it’s that he is the kind of man who will move hell and high water to keep his promises. 

Levi wakes up in the small hours of the morning. Still dressed in his work clothes, head thick and fuzzy and mouth tasting like ashes. He squints at his phone to check the time and finds two missed calls and a voicemail. He doesn’t have to listen to know it’s from Erwin Smith. 

Levi pushes the voicemail to the back of his mind and leaves it there. It’s pointless to listen. Erwin is gone and listening to a shitty voicemail will achieve nothing. So he doesn’t listen, but he can’t quite bring himself to delete it either.

* * *

A week passes, and Levi has almost managed to convince himself that he has forgotten about Erwin when an e-mail from Dr E. Smith lands in his inbox. His first instinct is to hit delete but it’s titled Recalibrated Dating Sequence so it’s work, he can’t ignore it. He opens the mail, hating himself for the way his stomach flips over, hating even more the sting of disappointment when he sees that the mail is addressed to the project director and copied not just to him, but to all the other researchers working on the project. The mail is succinct and professional.

_Dear all,_

_Please find attached the recalibrated and revised dating sequence for the later Nabatean period. If you have any questions I’m happy to discuss how this impacts on the Umm el-Jimal ceramic typology or any other aspects of the project._

_With thanks to L. Ackerman, University of Jordan, for pointing out the original error._

_Regards,  
Erwin Smith_

Something ugly swells in Levi’s chest, a rolling surge of anger. He knows it’s irrational, unjustified. Erwin didn’t have to acknowledge him. Other researchers would kill to have an endorsement like that from a senior academic at a prestigious US university. Still, there is something in the neutral professional tone of the e-mail that enrages Levi. He clicks open the attachment and scans through the data, he knows it’s petty but he can’t help hoping he’ll find another error, even though he knows there is no way Erwin would make the same mistake twice. He hasn’t of course and Levi feels foolish, which only increases his anger. He saves the file to his desktop, files the e-mail and snaps his laptop shut. 

Levi’s anger is still burning bright by the time he gets home so he’s not sure why he finally caves and listens to Erwin’s voice mail. Perhaps he wants to add fuel to the fire, or perhaps he’s just a coward who won’t admit to himself that he has fucked up big time. He’s prepared to feel anger, regret, remorse when he dials his voicemail; what he is not prepared for is the way his breath hitches in his throat when he hears Erwin’s voice.

“Levi…It’s Erwin.”

Levi has to remind himself to breathe. 

“I’m just calling to say I’m back and…well…because I said I’d call. I promised.” 

He sounds tired, hesitant, and Levi can’t ignore that way Erwin’s voice catches on the promise.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say…umm…thank you and”

The voicemail cuts of abruptly; leaving Levi staring at his phone, heart hammering in his chest. He sinks slowly to the floor, leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

* * *

The next week is a blur, a battle with regret that Levi isn’t winning.

Levi has never been one to regret. Kenny taught him that. 

_Deal with the shit and move on ya muz'ij, that’s all you gotta do._

And that’s what he has always done. Leave the past behind and keep moving on. But now, now Levi is consumed by regret. He regrets that he didn’t delete Erwin’s voicemail as soon as he received it. He regrets that he was weak enough to listen to it. He regrets that he has listened to it again and again and again just to hear Erwin’s voice speak his name. He regrets the bitterness and the anger that twists in his gut. 

He regrets that he ever met Erwin Smith. 

He regrets that it is too late to reply. 

But what he regrets most of all is that he has no one to blame but himself.

* * *

It’s a fortnight later that Levi receives Erwin’s text. He’s working in the café when his phone buzzes and Erwin’s message appears on his lock screen. 

_Hi Levi, how are you? I wonder if we could talk about the petrographic analysis? Erwin_

He’s stunned for a moment, then he feels the familiar spark of anger flaring in his chest. The petrographic analysis? What the fuck? Who the hell does Erwin Smith think he is? If he wants to talk about the fucking petrographic analysis he can email him at his university address like everyone else does. If he wants to say anything else then he should have the fucking guts to say it. Swallowing down his rage, Levi switches his phone off with shaking fingers, shoves it in his pocket, and turns back to the customer who is huffing impatiently at the counter. 

It’s almost midnight when Levi leaves the café. He’s still angry, but his anger has turned away from Erwin and coiled in upon himself. He is furiously angry and deeply ashamed that he has been waiting so desperately for Erwin to contact him again. But not like this. This isn’t what he wanted. He doesn’t want to talk to Erwin about work, he wants to know whether Erwin still thinks about him, whether he misses him, whether he remembers the press of his lips against his throat. Whether he is already nothing more than a distant regret. 

As he walks through the dark streets, Levi allows his feet to carry him past his flat and down through the twisted alleys of al-Balad, still bustling even at this late hour. He crosses the Hashemite Plaza and skirts around the Roman amphitheatre. Levi knows he could find distraction here, he has done so occasionally in the past, when the loneliness and the need for human contact has grown to much to bear. Two men stroll past, talking quietly and holding hands, not an unusual sight at any time of the day, but here, in this place, at this time of night, there can only be one intent. Levi keeps his hands in his pockets and his head down. A tall man with a heavy moustache clicks his tongue at him as he passes but Levi keeps on walking. There is nothing for him here, nothing here that he wants. The only thing that Levi wants is five thousand miles away on the other side of the world. 

Erwin Smith is not the first ajnabi to hit on Levi, not by a long shot. He’s had more than his fair share of foreigners trying to come on to him over the years. It goes with the territory; international fieldwork projects are rife with it. Levi could have funded his PhD several times over if he had a dollar for every patronisingly naïve fucker who came to the Middle East armed with an archaeology degree and a Lawrence complex, looking for their very own Dahoum. But Levi is never going to pander to anyone’s ideal of an exotic little Arab boy and he’s been forced to make that clear in no uncertain terms to more than a few deluded idiots who had been foolish enough to ignore his hostile glare and fuck off attitude. 

But Erwin, Erwin was different. Certainly his gaze had fallen on Levi, he had felt the heat and the weight of it. But there was an openness, an honesty in the way that Erwin looked at him that had caught Levi off guard. He may be a senior lecturer at some hot shot US university, there was remarkably little pretence about Erwin Smith. There was no denying that he had looked at Levi with a degree of curiosity, but it was the curiosity of someone who was willing to listen, to learn. It was almost as though Erwin actually respected him; saw him as another human being, rather than the personification of some cheap shitty stereotype. Sure he could see the want in Erwin’s eyes but there was something else there too, something that looked an awful lot like hope. Erwin wasn’t there to take, to possess, Erwin was offering to give. It was Levi who had taken, and now he was paying the price. 

As he turns his back on the Roman theatre and walks away, Levi can’t help looking back on those three brief days with utter incredulity. How could he have let it happen? How could he have been such a fool? 

It’s only when he gets back to his flat that he turns his phone on again and finds the second text message from Erwin. 

_it would be really really good to hear from you levi_

It says everything the first message did not and tells Levi everything he wanted to know, everything he was afraid to hear. Levi’s heart sinks as he chokes on his own regret.

* * *

Levi receives a call from the department a week later asking if he’ll go and investigate some possible rock art sites that have been reported on the southern edge of the Hauran. Rock art isn’t his thing, but he volunteers without hesitation, hoping that the field work will give him something to focus on, that time alone in the desert will help to clear his mind. 

But as Levi drives out of the city in the grey light of dawn, images of Erwin are swimming in his head. Erwin sitting in the back of the pick up truck, smiling broadly as the wind whips his hair into a dusty mess. The look of awe and delight on his face when they arrived at Umm el Jimal. His ill-concealed concern as the dust storm bore down on them. The weight of his hand in Levi’s as they drove through the endless empty miles of the desert. 

Levi has never felt lonely in the desert, not until now. 

It takes him several days to track down the Bedouin herdsman who reported seeing the rock art and the best part of a week to find the location based on his vague directions. Eventually Levi finds the site high on a rocky bluff overlooking a wadi. As is so often the case, the rock art turns out to be nothing more natural weathering. He surveys the site and records precise field notes regardless, then begins the long track back to where he left the Landrover. The sun is sinking below the horizon when he reaches the vehicle so he decides to stay put rather than drive back to Amman in the dark. 

Levi will always be a city boy at heart, but he loves the solitude of the desert. The endless horizons and vast openness of the skies help to put everything in perspective. Sometimes he feels a strange kind of vertigo when he looks up into the desert sky at night, as if the ground is falling away beneath him and he is suspended among the pinpoint stars. The vastness of it, the nothingness off it, remind him of his own insignificance. His life is so small, so fleeting, an infinitesimal spark in the grand scheme of things. Whatever problems are kicking his ass, the ghosts of his past, the uncertainties of the future, they all seem transient and ephemeral. He struggles to put it into words, but it’s a comforting feeling. But this time, even here, alone in the desert, there is no peace. Even here Levi is haunted by the blue of Erwin’s eyes, the fine lines of his collarbones, the warm hesitant press of his lips. 

It’s bugging the shit out of him and he knows he can’t ignore it any longer. If he continues to do nothing, Levi knows that he will regret this for the rest of his life. 

* * *

Levi is already driving, heading back to the city, when the sun rises the next morning. His phone is propped up on the dashboard in front of him and as soon as it reconnects to the network he pulls the Landrover over at the side of the road. He types out a brief message, takes a deep breath, and hits send. 

_Hey. What’s your Skype? L_

The response is almost immediate.

_Levi good to hear from you! How are you? Would be great to Skype. I’m erwin.smith_

Levi can’t help the smile that spreads over his face as he climbs back into the Landrover and turns on the ignition. As he drives back to the city the regret falls away behind him, evaporating like the mist in the morning sun.


	11. Connection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Erwin's pov. Picking up where Chapter 9 left off.

Levi is as good as his word. There is already a Skype message waiting for Erwin when he wakens the next morning. Another picture, this time of a plain white teacup and saucer, sitting on a desk beside a laptop. Levi’s desk surely. In Levi’s apartment perhaps? Or maybe at the university? Who else would use a proper cup and saucer? Erwin lies in bed and tries to picture Levi sitting at the desk, frowning at his screen, dark hair falling forward over his eyes, slender calloused fingers gripping the rim of the cup in that peculiar manner he has. 

Erwin can still remember the gentle burning touch of those fingers against his skin and it’s an effort to stop his hand from drifting south below the covers.

He Skypes back _Morning Levi, how’s your day going?_ And later, once he’s washed and dressed and sitting at the kitchen table, he sends a picture of his first cup of coffee of the day. It’s late afternoon when Levi messages back. 

_Clean your fucking table_

Skyping Levi throughout the day soon becomes second nature to Erwin. His new phone is never far from his hand and they send messages back and forth at all hours of the day and night. The seven hour time difference between the East Coast of the US and Jordan does little to hinder them, particularly given that Levi rarely appears to sleeps for longer than a couple of hours at a time, something that Erwin continually scolds him for in the small hours of the night. 

_What time is it Levi?_

_Late. early. why?_

_Aren’t you working tomorrow?_

_Yes_

_Shouldn’t you be in bed?_

_How do you know I’m not?_

_Are you?_

_what’s it to you_

_FFS Levi, just go to sleep._

Their conversations twist and meander without going any place in particular. Levi never misses an opportunity to snipe at Erwin and Erwin is happy to present an easy target. It’s simple, straightforward. It’s actually fun. The kind of fun that Erwin hasn’t factored into his life for a long time. 

Despite the limitations of the medium and Levi’s coarse sharp exterior, Erwin finds him remarkably easy to communicate with. It’s effortless really; the connection is just there. Admittedly Erwin has never had a problem talking to people, he’s always had an easy confidence and he knows he can be very persuasive. A _smooth fucking bastard_ in Hanji’s words. But actually connecting with people, that’s something different. Erwin does not give his heart away lightly. In one of their more bitter arguments, Marie had questioned whether he had a heart at all. Fifteen years later he can still hear the hurt in her voice, see her face screwed up in anger and frustration, tears streaming down mascara smeared cheeks.

“How can you be so…so cold Erwin? Do you care about anything except your stupid fucking work? Do you care about me at all? You’re just…I don’t know…. you’re all just fucking surface. I never know what you feel. I don’t even know if you do feel anything. What’s going on in there Erwin? Tell me because I honestly have no fucking clue any more.”

Erwin had walked away not because it was true, not because he didn’t care, but because he knew he could never give Marie the part of himself that she needed. 

But that was a long time ago. A life time ago. And now there is Levi; a man he has met only once and will likely never meet again. A man who without even trying has found a way past all the barricades that Erwin has so carefully constructed. 

But thankfully, Levi is mercifully unaware of all this. 

Now that he has finally made contact, Levi seems remarkably content to keep in touch. He gives no indication of wanting to break off the conversation, but that does nothing to stop Erwin from fearing that each message might be his last. He lurches continually between elation and fear; simultaneously delighted to have Levi in his life and afraid that he will disappear again at any moment.

Skype chats with Levi begin to occupy the empty spaces in Erwin’s life. He had never noticed how much space there was before, had never considered himself to be lonely or alone. It’s only now he realises just how much he has missed this; this effortless connection to another human being. Sure he has friends; there’s Mike and his partner Nanaba, Hanji, he even considers Nile a friend of sorts, despite his past history with Marie and the fact that, basically, Nile is an asshole. But this whatever-it-is he has with Levi is different, this thing that Erwin hesitates to put a name to. He knows it has already gone way beyond friendship, but the thought of what this _might_ be, what this could become, thrills and terrifies Erwin, so he chooses not to look to closely, preferring not to complicate things, to accept what they have at face value. 

For the time being. 

So Erwin doesn’t push, he lets Levi set the pace. Some instinct deep down in his gut tells him that if he pushes to far or too fast, if he brings the weight of his expectation, his longing, to bear, he will drive Levi away. The connection between them seems so tenuous. A tiny green dot and a ladder of words on a glowing screen, the only tangible evidence of Levi’s presence in his life. 

Erwin tries not the let his life revolve around that green dot, but the more they chat the more he is drawn in, like a fish on a line, powerless to resist the tug of the silken lure. Every message he receives, no matter how trivial or snarky or coarse, kindles a spark in Erwin’s chest, banking up the fire that he feels sure will consume him from the inside out. 

It does not go unnoticed of course. 

“You’ve perked up!” Hanji announces brightly one afternoon as they make their way back from one of Nile’s interminable research strategy meetings. 

“Have I?” Erwin replies non-committedly. He doesn’t deny it but he isn’t about to go into details either and he is eternally grateful when, for once, Hanji shows a little restraint and doesn’t push it. 

Mike, however, is less discrete, which is hardly surprising, as Erwin has bailed on him two weekends in a row in favour of chatting to Levi. When they do eventually catch up, Mike cuts right to the chase. 

“So what’s been keeping you?” he asks as they settle into a booth in a sports bar, to watch a game that Erwin has no interest in. 

“Nothing really, just work, the usual. How about you, what have you been up to? How’s Nan?” 

It’s a poor attempt to deflect Mike’s line of questioning and Erwin can’t claim to be surprised when it doesn’t work.

“You’re a shit liar Erwin Smith.”

Erwin instantly feels guilty, he doesn’t want to lie to Mike, and he knows he owes him an explanation as to why he has been so scarce for the best part of a month.

“If I didn’t know better,” Mike continues, fixing Erwin with that calm direct gaze of his, “I’d think you were seeing someone.” 

Well at least he can answer that honestly.

“I’m not seeing anyone.” Erwin smiles and shakes his head. 

“Yeah I know you’re not _actually_ seeing someone,” Mike sniffs pointedly, “but you’ve definitely got something going on. Did you mean someone online? On one of these dating sites or something?” 

Erwin laughs a little too loudly and takes a sip of his beer to hide his embarrassment. Mike always was too damn perceptive. 

“I’ve never been near an online dating site. Come on Mike, I’m not that desperate.” 

“It’s cool Erwin, nothing to be ashamed of, lots of people hook up like that these days. Anyway, whatever, it’s good to see you looking happy.”

Erwin isn’t sure why he is so reticent to tell Mike about Levi. It’s not that he’s ashamed, far from it, and he knows that the information wouldn’t go any further than Nanaba. They’re his oldest friends and Erwin would trust them with his life. It’s more that it all seems so tenuous, so utterly improbable. How can Erwin even begin to explain that his life now revolves around a man on the other side of the world, who he barely knows and has hardly spoken to? He struggles to comprehend it himself. But as usual, Mike is right, he _is_ happy, happier than he has been for longer than he cares to remember, but that doesn’t stop Erwin from wanting more. Words alone are not enough. He is desperate to see Levi, to see the furrow of his brows, the tilt of his lips, that almost-but-not-quite smile, the fall of his hair and the grey of his eyes. His longing for Levi is a deep visceral thing, a physical sensation that will not let him rest. And more than anything else, Erwin longs to hear the sound of Levi’s voice.


	12. More

It takes almost a fortnight before Erwin finally decides to asks Levi if he can call. He tells himself that he’s simply waiting for the right moment but he knows that, really, he’s prevaricating, afraid that the wrong move will break the tenuous connection, the slender thread that links him to Levi.

It’s early Saturday evening on the East Coast of the US, stupid o’clock in the morning in Amman. They’ve been chatting for over an hour, Erwin getting his ass kicked as usual. He’s been building up to this all week, carefully rehearsing his request, considering every conceivable response. It doesn’t feel quite real when he types out the question that’s been hovering at his fingertips for the last two weeks. He hesitates for a moment and then hits send.

_Can we talk?_

_Wtf you mean? We are talking_

_No I mean can I call you?_

There’s a long pause. Erwin waits. 

No reply. 

His stomach drops, palms sweating and clammy as they hover over the keyboard. He swallows hard, and leaps. 

_I really want to hear your voice Levi._

He waits, holding his breath.

Still no rely. 

Erwin can feel panic starting to rise in his chest, fluttering against his ribcage like something trapped and desperate. 

_Ok. This camera is a bit shitty though. Might not work._

Erwin releases his breath in a sudden grateful rush, then he turns on his camera, runs one shaky hand through his hair and hits the blue call button. The call rings, rings again and fails. It takes three attempts before it connects and then there he is. The picture is dim and pixelated but it’s Levi. 

“Hey,” Levi says, frowning out of the screen at him, “can you hear me? Camera and mic in this laptop are shit.”

Erwin just stares, his voice suddenly dying in this throat. 

Levi is there, right there in front of him, arms folded across his chest, scowling at the camera. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and has his hair pushed back off his face. It’s too dim to see much of the room behind him. 

“Hey,” he repeats, “can you hear me Erwin?” He frowns and peers more closely at the camera, a strand of hair falling forward into his eyes. 

“Yes,” Erwin forces himself to remember how to speak, pushing the words past trembling lips. “Yes, Levi….it’s just…”

He leans back, clasps both hands behind his head and laughs nervously.

“I can hear you. It’s good to see you, so good to see you again.”

Levi rolls his eyes and snorts. 

“Yeah, I guess, you too, don’t shit yourself old man.” 

And that’s all it takes. Just like that, they’re talking several times a week, whenever they have the time and the bandwidth. 

Admittedly it’s a little awkward, a little stilted at first, but slowly, gradually, Levi begins to drop his guard, allowing Erwin to peel away the outer layers of his defences, revealing glimpses of the man behind the sharp tongue and the tough unreadable facade. And slowly, gradually, Erwin begins to learn the answers to the myriad questions that have been plaguing him since that night in the Hauran. 

He learns that although Levi has lived in Jordan for over ten years, he is originally from the Lebanon; born and raised in Beirut towards the end of the civil war. Erwin’s guess that 83 is his birthdate proves to be correct. At first Levi tells him that he doesn’t remember much about the war and, although he is intensely curious about Levi’s past, Erwin knows it is not his place to press for details. He doesn’t ask which side of the green line Levi is from, it doesn’t matter. What he is or is not does not define Levi, the war does not define Levi, Levi defines himself on his own terms and that is all that matters to Erwin. 

Then one night Levi starts to talk. Erwin isn’t even sure what they’d been talking about previously, how the conversation circled around until Levi is sitting in front of his laptop, arms folded tightly around himself telling Erwin about the war. About how he was five when his mother was killed when a shell hit their apartment and the building collapsed. About how it took several days for rescue teams to dig out the survivors. How he remembers sitting quietly in the dust and the rubble and the darkness waiting by his mother’s side until the rescuers reached him. 

Erwin listens, throat choked with something thick and hot. 

“I’m sorry.” 

It sounds so inadequate, but what else can he say?

Levi simply shrugs, tells him it doesn’t matter, that it was all a long time ago, but his voice is flat and he looks away from the camera as he speaks.

He goes on to tell Erwin that he stayed in Beirut all through the reconstruction, but he barks out a hollow laugh when Erwin asks who looked after him, whether he had other family in the city?

“Yeah I had an uncle,” and there’s something like a sneer in his voice. “He was bad news though, mixed up in trouble on all sides, but he taught me to survive, so I guess I owe him that.” 

Erwin wonders how exactly you teach a child to survive in the aftermath of civil war, but he doesn’t ask. 

“He ran out eventually. Left me to it.” 

“How old were you?” Erwin asks, unsure if he wants to know the answer. 

Levi shrugs again. 

“Can’t really remember, ten or eleven maybe?” 

“What did you do then?” 

“Just got on with it. There were lots of other kids in the same boat. I was no worse off than them, better off than many. At least I knew how to handle myself. I did okay.”

He’s looking directly at the camera now, chin tilted up in that familiar gesture of defiance, and Erwin thinks he begins to understand where that peculiar mix of awkwardness and determination that is so characteristic of Levi has come from. And Erwin can see that it’s true, whatever happened, Levi survived. He did okay. 

Erwin doesn’t sleep much that night. He lies awake thinking about Levi, about his own childhood, about vaguely remembered news reports of wars that seemed a world away to a boy growing up in England. 

He Skypes Levi first thing the next morning.

_Hey Levi can I call?_

_Ok I’m at work though. Let me find headphones_

Erwin waits a moment before hitting the call button and when Levi answers he’s sitting at his desk in the tiny cramped room he shares with other postgrads at the university. 

“You’re up early, what’s up?” 

“Nothing really,” Erwin replies, keeping his tone light, “I just wanted to say good morning.”

Levi rolls his eyes. 

“Seriously? You called me just to say that?” 

“Yes, I guess I did,” Erwin admits sheepishly. 

“What the fuck is wrong with texting? I’m trying to write a report here.” Levi taps the desk irritably with a pen to emphasise his point. 

“Sorry, I won’t keep you.” 

“Remind me why I put up with your shit?” 

Erwin just smiles.

“Any more of this bullshit and I’m blocking you Smith.” 

Levi scowls at the camera, but the effect is rather spoiled by the pen sticking out from behind his ear. 

Levi does not block Erwin. Far from it. They keep talking and gradually Erwin traces the path that led Levi to the university in Amman. He learns that after Levi’s uncle left he hooked up with a couple of other kids. They looked out for each other and supported themselves doing odd jobs and running errands. There was no shortage of opportunity with the reconstruction of Beirut going on all around them. And that’s where Levi’s fascination with archaeology had sprung from. As the bombed out buildings were torn down and the piles of rubble cleared away, teams of archaeologists had flown in from universities all over the world to hastily excavate the remains of the Mediaeval, Roman and Hellenistic cities that lay beneath modern Beirut.

Levi laughs as he tells Erwin how he watched the excavations appear all over the city, wondering why so many white people had flown to Beirut from all over the world to dig holes in the ground. As far as he was concerned, Beirut already had more than enough holes. He wanted to ask what they were doing but few of them spoke much in the way of Arabic or French and he had been too shy to test out his rudimentary English. One day he stumbled on a fieldwork team from Irbid University in Jordan, people who spoke his language, more or less, though their accents sounded stupid to his city boy’s ears. He had sat by the side of their trench watching them all day until he plucked up the courage to ask them what they were doing. Later he tells Erwin how he watched as the remains of his childhood apartment block were cleared away and the foundations dug out to reveal a Roman hypocaust system lying directly below what had once been their basement. That was enough to convince him that he wanted to study archaeology so he began working, and kept working until he could pay his way through school and an undergraduate degree at the Beirut Arab University. He turned his hand to anything that would pay and more often than not, it was with his hands that he earned his living, working as a carpenter for a while, then as a butcher. That surprises Erwin. 

“A butcher? Really? That’s the last thing I’d imagine you doing.” 

Levi shrugs.

“Why not? It’s work.”

“Isn’t it a bit, well, unhygienic for your tastes?”

Levi wrinkles his nose and five thousand miles away, Erwin is embarrassed to feel something in his stomach flip over. 

“The smell is pretty fucking gross but I didn’t mind the work.” Levi explains matter of factly. “I know what to do with a knife.” 

“Sorry, you what?” Erwin almost chokes on his coffee. 

“Knives. My uncle taught me how to handle them.” 

“I thought you said your uncle left when you were about ten?”

“He did. But he taught me to look after myself before he fucked off.”

Levi grins and there’s something cold and hard there that stops the breath in Erwin’s throat. He doesn’t want to think about how you teach a ten-year-old child to look after themselves with a knife. 

After graduating, Levi left the Lebanon for Jordan, studying for his masters in Irbid, before moving to Amman to do his PhD. He has a small grant that he supplements by working on other projects and in the café, but he can still only afford to study part time. He doesn’t mind working as a barista, he takes satisfaction in preparing coffee and finds it oddly calming. 

“The customers are a pain in the fucking ass though.” 

“Especially the ones who don’t know how to order coffee properly?” 

“Yeah,” Levi deadpans, “they’re the fucking worst.” 

Erwin laughs and something tightens in his chest. 

“Do you miss Beirut?” Erwin asks Levi in passing several weeks later.

“Sometimes,” Levi pauses and scrunches up his nose, thinking. “I miss the ocean, the cafes on the Corniche. They have good coffee in Beirut.” 

“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” 

“Yeah, probably someday.”

“I’ve heard it’s a beautiful city. I’d love to see it.” 

And it’s true. For much of Erwin’s early life Beirut had been a byword for war and division but a proliferation of travel articles following the end of the war, hailing the resurrection of the Paris of the Middle East, had briefly piqued his interest. He had even considered travelling there after he graduated but the offer of a post doc in the US was too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Why don’t you go then?” Levi asks in that blunt way of his. 

“Maybe I should,” Erwin laughs, “I’d be lost without a local guide though.” 

“Yeah you would. You’re fucking useless old man. Can’t even order a coffee.”

Despite the frequency of their conversations, Erwin can’t help longing for more of Levi. He longs for Levi’s physical presence; can’t help remembering the strength and smallness of his hands, the careful way his fingers had traced his collarbone, the roughness of his skin and gentleness of his touch. Erwin remembers all these things and more; he remembers trails of water tracing through the dust on Levi’s back, the strong curve of his shoulders, the narrow waist tapering to the hand span of his hips. And Erwin longs. The longing is so overpowering that sometimes he can not help himself. Can not resist the urge to grip and pull, to close his eyes and remember the hot press of Levi’s lips, hesitation giving way to determination, the taste of aniseed on his tongue. Erwin comes in his hand, filling his fist in a hot sticky rush that brings a moment of relief and days and days of guilt. 

Usually when they speak, Levi is seated at his desk in the corner of his single-room apartment, but one night when he calls, Erwin finds himself looking at Levi from an entirely different perspective. It’s Sunday evening, Erwin is sitting on the couch in his living room with a glass of wine by his side, reading over a paper he is supposed to be reviewing. When he clicks the accept call button the picture is so dark that it takes Erwin a minute to figure out that Levi appears to be lying in bed, propped up on one elbow. He’s wearing a faded t-shirt, stretched wide at the neck and his hair is a riot. Erwin glances at the time and realises it must be very, very late in Amman.

“Levi…” Erwin’s throat feels oddly dry, “you look…”

“I look like shit.” Levi cuts in, running his hand over his jaw, which is dark with stubble. As he peers at the grainy picture, Erwin can see the shadows circling Levi’s eyes. 

“What time is it over there?” Erwin asks.

Levi squints, obviously peering at the time on his laptop.

“Back of three.”

“Can’t sleep?” 

Erwin already knows Levi has trouble sleeping and a passing reference to “dreams and shit” has lead him to believe that Levi suffers from nightmares, though he’d immediately clammed up when Erwin asked if he wanted to talk about it. 

“I guess,” Levi replies, looking away from the camera, and it pains Erwin inexpressible that he cannot be there to hold him. 

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Right…”

Levi rolls his eyes and Erwin is relieved to see the hint of a smirk.

“Hey, that’s not what I meant!” Erwin protests, holding his hands up innocently. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Levi drawls, “just keep your hands where I can see them.” He’s silent for a moment before he speaks again, his voice low and soft this time. “Just talk to me Erwin, I like the sound of your voice.”

“Of course Levi, what do you want to talk about?”

And somehow Erwin finds it’s an effort to keep his voice steady. 

“I don’t know, anything, tell me about you.”

“Okay, if that’s what you want.”

Levi nods and settles his head into the crook of his arm, and Erwin starts talking. 

He tells Levi about his childhood, growing up in the south west of England, how everything was normal, happy, until one night his father didn’t come home from a parents evening at the school. He tells Levi that he remembers a policeman at the door, then his mother sitting him down to tell him in a voice thick with unshed tears that his father wouldn’t be coming home, that there had been an accident. Erwin doesn’t often talk about his father but when he does, that’s where the story ends. This time though, he keeps on talking, and without quite knowing why, he finds himself telling Levi that somehow he always felt culpable for his father’s death, which he knows is stupid, he was just a kid and it was the kind of tragic road traffic accident that could have happened to anyone. But still, that hasn’t stopped him carrying a quiet burden of guilt and grief all these years. 

Levi listens quietly, then utters a soft “Allah yerhamu.” 

Erwin doesn’t understand the words but thousands of miles away the sentiment is clear and he has to swallow hard to force down the lump in his throat before he can continue speaking. 

He moves on to safer territory, telling Levi how he studied Chemistry at Imperial in London before moving on to do a Masters and then a PhD in Archaeological Science at UCL. He’d planned to travel after graduating, see the world, do some fieldwork, but the offer of a post doc fellowship took him to the US. He tells Levi that he had never intended to stay in the US, but that one thing led to another and here it is, fifteen years later still feeling like it’s a temporary arrangement, that he doesn’t quite belong, that he’ll go home one day. Though he doesn’t really know where home is anymore, as his mother passed away some time ago and he hasn’t been back to England since. 

Levi lies still, listening. Several times Erwin thinks he’s fallen asleep, but when he stops and leans towards his laptop to ask “Levi, are you still awake?” Levi nods and murmurs “Don’t stop.”

So Erwin keeps talking, and he hadn’t meant to but somehow he finds himself talking about Marie. About how they met not long after he moved to the US, how she bowled him over with her bright no nonsense manner and sharp sense of humour. How right from the off, people always said how good they were together, what a great match. And Erwin can’t deny that he had loved her, loved her ballsy attitude and the way she threw her head back when she laughed. Somehow one thing led to another, and it didn’t seem to make sense to keep two apartments anymore when they always ended up staying at Marie’s anyway. And that was how they ended up living together, fending off questions from impatient friends and relatives about when they could expect an invite to the wedding. And for a while Erwin tried to believe they could make it work, tried his hardest to smooth over the increasingly frequent arguments, to paper over the cracks. But somewhere, deep down he had always known it would never work, because Marie wanted something from him that he wasn’t prepared to give and ultimately that was why he knew he had to walk away.  
It had hurt of course. Hurt like hell. And it had hurt even more when Nile and Marie had announced their engagement several months later. Not that he’d let on of course, he’d told himself, and anyone else who cared to listen, that he was happy on their behalf. 

“And the thing is,” Erwin continues, “it’s true, I’ll always regret that I hurt Marie, but I’ll never regret leaving her. I have no regrets there.” 

But this time when he glances up at the screen Levi doesn’t nod, doesn’t blink, his head has fallen forward, arm draped loosely over his neck and Erwin can tell by the steady rise and fall of his chest that he has finally fallen asleep. 

The picture is so dark and pixelated that Erwin can only just make him out and he is forcefully reminded of that night at Umm el-Jimal when he lay down beside Levi on the hard concrete floor of the tool store in the dim red glow of the dust storm. It seems like a world and a lifetime away and Erwin still can’t quite fathom the impulse that lead him to stretch out one finger to touch Levi’s hand. The memory is so vivid that he can’t help reaching out to touch the screen, to trace the curve of Levi’s shoulder, the shadow of his lips. His hair has fallen forward over his face and Erwin swipes one finger across the screen to brush it away. And he knows it’s stupid and sad and pathetic, but the longing is so intensely physical that he just can’t help himself. He slides the laptop off his knees and places it on the low table in front of the couch then he lies down facing the screen, watching the faint rhythm of Levi’s breathing until he too falls asleep. 

Erwin wakes in the middle of the night, cold and stiff with a crick in his neck. His laptop has long since shut down and he lies staring at the blank screen, a feeling of hollow desperation in his chest and the cold knowledge that he is in way, way over his head.


	13. Questions and Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind comments on the last chapter, they mean the world to me <3

The next fortnight passes in a blur, Levi is working on a chapter of his thesis and Erwin is putting together a funding proposal with multiple international partners, which entails conference calls at all sorts of odd hours of the day and night. They barely have time to talk, occasionally snatching hurried Skype conversations that break off abruptly. 

_How’s the chapter going Levi?_

_Shit. How’s the bid?_

_Getting there but it’s like herding cats. Anything I can do to help?_

_Unless you can get your ass out to the Hauran to check this survey data then no._

Erwin ruefully watches Skype messages from Levi going by as he hangs on interminable calls, listening to colleagues arguing about synthesis and evaluation frameworks, risk registers and work packages. 

_Hey Erwin you there? Got time to talk?_

_Sorry Levi on a call._

_Sucks._

_Big time. I’m sure we agreed all this last week. Jesus Christ they’re arguing about the deliverables again. This should have been nailed down right at the start._

_Perks of being a PI old man._

_Something like that. Tbh, right now I’d happily go back to being an RA. Can I come and work for you Levi?_

_No fucking chance you’d be a liability in the field_

_Thanks for that vote of confidence. Gtg, we’re on to work package 4. I’m leading this one. Bye. E x._

On and on it goes. Erwin frets at each day that passes when he doesn’t have time to talk to Levi and for the first time in a long time he begins to wonder if there’s more to life than work. However when they do snatch time for a brief call at the weekend, conversation inevitably turns to the work that they’ve both been so preoccupied with. 

Erwin is far too professional to criticise his colleagues in public and he’s not one for bitching in the staff room, but he doesn’t think twice about off-loading to Levi. He knows instinctively that he can trust him, and he proves to be a remarkably good listener and a shrewd judge of character. Levi, perhaps unsurprisingly, proves to have very little tolerance for international research projects that fly field workers in to the Middle East, while side lining local archaeologists who already know the sites they’re investigating and have extensive experience in the field.

“And then you fuck off with the finds and samples to your nice fancy labs and we never have the chance to develop the capability to do our own lab work and post excavation analysis. I mean, what the fuck? It’s cultural fucking imperialism.” 

Erwin shifts uncomfortably as he listens to Levi’s polemic, though he’s not sure whether his discomfort stems from Levi’s arguments or from the realization that he has never considered his work from this perspective before. As far as he is concerned the sites his lab dates exist at a fixed point on the historic or prehistoric timeline. He had blithely assumed that if local populations felt any connection or kinship with these sites then that was a concern for the field archaeologists and the contextual interpretation of the site, and did not impinge on the work of his lab. Listening now, he realizes that of course his work is part of the bigger picture and contributing to a problem that is far more complex than he has ever considered. The realization makes him feel arrogant and entitled. He listens quietly as Levi rails before adding, “You’re right Levi, absolutely right.”

Levi eyes him skeptically from the screen of his laptop, brows furrowed into that fierce frown that flips Erwin’s heart over in his chest. 

“You should write this up into a paper Levi, it’s important that more people hear this.” 

Levi clicks his tongue and scoffs.

“Yeah because journals are just queuing up to publish articles about cultural imperialism and the appropriation of the archaeological heritage of the Middle East.” 

“Maybe not,” Erwin persists, “but it’s too important to leave this unsaid.”

Levi eyes Erwin skeptically and Erwin makes a mental note to pick up the thread of this conversation at a later date. 

Eventually Erwin’s project proposal is completed, the final drafts of the documents are harmonized, budgets and letters of approval checked and rechecked and the bid is submitted right under the wire, half an hour before the deadline. The first thing Erwin does after he hits send and breathes an enormous sigh of relief, is Skype Levi.

_Bid’s in! Have you got time to talk tonight?_

_Ok. Working in the café. Should be home by 12._

Erwin smiles as he closes his laptop and prepares to leave the office for a quick drink with Niles to celebrate the submission of what will hopefully be a successful proposal. 

One drink turns into two or three and, though it’s still early evening when Erwin arrives home, it’s later than he intended. It’s almost two in the morning in Amman but he doesn’t hesitate to call Levi. Erwin may worry about his irregular sleep patterns, but he has to admit that Levi’s nocturnal tendencies make communicating across time zones that little bit easier. 

Although they’ve been talking for months now, Erwin still can’t suppress the small nervous thrill that runs through him every time he calls Levi. He holds his breath as he waits for Levi to pick up the call, but when he does, Erwin can’t help but noticing that he looks exhausted. Even in the fuzzy pixelated image on Erwin’s screen he can see the dark purple shadows under his eyes. Admittedly it’s stupid o’clock in the morning, but that’s nothing unusual for Levi. 

“Hey,” he says flatly.

“Hey,” Erwin replies, and despite his concern, he can’t help smiling. “Are you all right there Levi? You look tired.” 

“Yeah, I’m fucked,” Levi admits, rubbing at one eye and yawning, “been working extra shifts.”

“Why so?”

“Fucking hard drive on my laptop died. That shit costs money to replace so I need to work all the extra shifts I can get.” 

Erwin feels a pang of guilt as he looks at the shiny new MacBook Air sitting on his lap, bought and paid for with the underspend from a previous research project. 

“I could…” he starts, “if you need…” but he breaks off as Levi scowls at him defiantly.

“You could what?” 

“Nothing, never mind, it’s just really good to see you.”

“Missed me did you?” Levi rolls his eyes. “You’re such a fucking sap old man.” 

“Guilty as charged,” Erwin grins and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s demob happy after getting the bid finished, whether it’s the beers he drank with Nile, or whether it’s just that it’s so damn good to hear Levi’s voice again, but the question is out of his mouth before he can stop himself. 

“Levi, why did you take so long to reply?”

And there it is. The one question that’s been niggling at the back of Erwin’s mind, the one question he’s been avoiding because he knows he has no right to ask. The one question he doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer to. And Erwin knows that now is not the time, when Levi is so clearly exhausted and he is just a little bit drunk, but it’s out now and there’s no taking it back. 

Levi looks back at him, understandably confused.

“What the fuck do you mean? I answered as soon as you called.”

Erwin momentarily considers back-pedalling, but he’s not one to back down, so he presses on. 

“No, I don’t mean tonight, I mean before.”

“Before what? What the fuck are you talking about Erwin?”

“After I left…”

Erwin doesn’t have to continue. A flicker of something passes across Levi’s face and then it’s like the shutters come down behind his eyes. He pauses, lips pressed into a thin hard line, brows drawn down into that characteristic scowl. 

“Why are you asking this now?” 

“Because,” Erwin pauses, takes a deep breath, “because I need to know. I don’t really know why, I just…”

But Levi cuts him off before he can continue and there’s a tension in his voice that Erwin hasn’t heard before.

“Okay if you want to know, I’ll tell you why. I didn’t call because I told myself there’s no fucking point.” 

The sharpness in Levi’s tone catches Erwin off guard and sobers him up instantly.

“You’re half the world away, with a nice settled job and a nice settled life. Living the dream Erwin. I mean what the fuck could someone like you want from someone me? Apart from the fucking obvious.”

Something cold twists in Erwin’s gut but Levi continues. 

“People like you and me Erwin,” he gestures between himself and the screen, “it just doesn’t work like that.”

“Why…why not? Why can’t it work? Why can’t we make something work?” 

Erwin can hear the conviction in his own voice and he hopes against hope that Levi can hear it too because suddenly he feels like the world is lurching beneath him, tilting and falling away.

“Levi listen to me,” Erwin continues, conviction sliding into desperation “this can be anything you want it to be. It doesn’t even have to by a specific thing, can’t we just…why can’t we…”

He trails off. Now that it comes down to it Erwin has no clue what he is trying to say. He has purposefully avoided examining this thing that exists between himself and Levi. It all feels so natural, so right, so effortless to Erwin that he has deliberately avoided considering where it might lead or what might become of them. And of course Levi is right, their lives are worlds apart and not just by virtue of the miles that separate them. To think otherwise is a delusion and suddenly Erwin feels blinkered and foolish. The cold realization that all this hope, all this joy, might lead to nothing more than pain and recrimination and regret, settles in his gut like a sickening weight. 

Silence stretches between them. Levi gazes at the screen, distant and defiant and Erwin has to look away to as he tries and fails to gather his thoughts. In the end, all he has is one more question.

“So why did you get back to me Levi? What changed?”

Levi sighs and runs his hands through his hair, pulling it back off his face. He closes his eyes for a moment, before staring straight into the camera.

“Nothing changed, Erwin, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you all the fucking time.” He shrugs his shoulders and drops his hands from his head letting his hair cascade forward over his face. “That’s all.”

And he looks so small and fierce and determined but so, so alone that it’s all Erwin can do to choke back the sob that catches in his throat. 

Erwin lies awake all night, wracked in a storm of doubt and uncertainty. He has always been so certain about his life, so sure of what he was doing. Even when he split up with Marie he was genuinely convinced it was for the best. But now? Now he has no clue, no fucking clue at all, but if there is one lifeline he can cling to, one thing he is certain of, it is that he can not contemplate a future without Levi in it. So Erwin does the only thing he can do, the one thing he does best, he thinks, he plans, he schemes, and in the morning, he sets to work.


	14. Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful thoughtful comments on the last chapter, I can't tell you how much I appreciate them all <3

Erwin bides his time, waiting until he and Levi settle back into some kind of cautious equilibrium. Levi remains subdued but Erwin optimistically puts it down to the extra work he’s been shouldering for the last month. Whenever Erwin Skypes he’s either at work, going to work, or coming back from work. In addition to his shifts in the café, Levi takes on tutoring duties at the university and picks up odd bits and pieces of fieldwork whenever he can, all the while trying to keep his own research ticking over. It’s no surprise that he looks permanently exhausted. Erwin’s resolve strengthens as he watches the shadows darken under Levi’s eyes. 

He picks his moment carefully, a relatively quiet Saturday in Amman, Levi has taken a rare afternoon off from the café to work on his thesis and, though Erwin feels guilty for interrupting his precious writing time, he knows this is the best opportunity he’s going to get. 

Levi is sitting at his desk at home when he answers Erwin’s call. His hair is tied up and he’s wearing glasses and a faded t-shirt that appears to say something about a cat. The glasses surprise Erwin, distracting him momentarily. 

“Levi,” Erwin shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore the inconvenient heat growing in his lap. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” 

Levi removes the glasses and rubs his eyes. 

“Yeah, just for writing sometimes. Eyesight’s going to balls. What you up to?”

“Not much,” Erwin lies, “just wanted to say hello. What does your shirt say?”

Levi squints down at his shirt as though he’s forgotten what he’s wearing.

“Uh….Don’t fuck with my cat. It’s a band thing, from Beirut.”

“That’s nice.” 

“Nice? Right…” Levi snorts, “are you going to tell me why you really called?”

“Do I need a reason?” Erwin counters with a winning smile. “Maybe I just wanted to talk to you?” 

“Cute, but I’ve got shit to do here. This chapter’s a fucking mess.”

“Okay,” Erwin confesses, “I admit it, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Come on then, spit it out, you look fucking constipated.”

“So,” Erwin starts “I was thinking about what you said.”

Levi sits back and crosses his arms, waiting for him to continue. 

“About this,” _about us_ he wants to say, “about international research projects and the lack of opportunities for Middle Eastern archaeologists, and I know how hard you have to work to fund your research, and it occurred to me that I could apply for a research fellowship for you here. This is a really good university Levi, it would be a great opportunity for you.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

It’s not the enthusiastic response Erwin had hoped for, but he knows it’s a good idea, and though he may not initially leap at the chance, he trusts that Levi has enough common sense to see that too.

“So,” Erwin continues, “I had a look around and it turns out there’s an internal fund at the university for visiting international postgrads. It’s some sort of bequest that was left to the university way back in the day. It’s perfect. It’ll cover your fees for a year plus a stipend for living and travel expenses.”

“Sounds too good to be true,” Levi scoffs, “what’s the catch?”

“No catch that I’ve found so far.” 

Levi’s eyes have narrowed but Erwin presses on regardless. 

“I’ve made a start on the paper work and run the idea past the dean. He’s already agreed to sign it off, though the fellowship won’t come through until the next academic year and we still need to sort out all the visa application, but I’m sure we can cope with that.” 

“Wait,” Levi stammers, “are you…are you telling me you’ve _already_ started applying for this funding?”

“Well, I’m still dealing with the paperwork, but yes essentially. The application’s almost ready to go.”

Levi’s mouth has fallen open in surprise, all trace of tiredness gone, and Erwin can’t help feeling a little smug. 

“It’s a great opportunity, you won’t have to worry about working, you can just concentrate on your thesis. Fellowships are a really good way to progress your work and get a foot on the academic ladder. That’s how I ended up in the US.” Erwin goes on, not without a touch of pride. “I came for a twelve-month fellowship and that opened doors to the position I’m in now. It’s a great way to develop your research and your career. You’ll meet new colleagues, get your work known, and you’ll be a real asset to the department.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the fuck up there!” Levi interrupts, “why the ever loving _fuck_ did did you just assume I'd drop everything and come to the US?” 

The unexpected outburst stops Erwin in his tracks and he gapes at Levi, momentarily lost for words. 

“You don’t have to drop everything Levi, that’s not what I said,” Erwin explains, trying to keep the touch of irritation out of his voice. “That’s the beauty of this fellowship, it allows you to transfer your PhD here. I know Amman is a good university, but this is one of the best universities in the US, in the world in fact. It’s an amazing opportunity for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Levi snarls, “and do you really think your amazing university is just going to welcome me with open arms? Just because the doors opened for you Erwin, do you really think they’ll open for me? I’m an Arab for fuck sake. What makes you think that every one of those same fucking doors won’t slam shut in my face? 

Erwin can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, his tightly controlled temper stoked into life by Levi’s unexpected response. 

“Don’t be ridiculous Levi, this is an international university, we have students from all over the world here, students who would be very grateful for an opportunity like this I might add, why do you think you would be treated any differently?” 

“Oh for fuck sake Erwin, are you really that naïve?”

“Apparently you seem to think so,” Erwin replies coolly. 

“And anyway,” Levi continues, leaning in towards the screen, “why the _fuck_ do you think I would want to leave here? Huh? This is where I work, this is where I do my research.” He stabs his finger onto the desk to emphasize each point. “This is my _home_ Erwin, I belong here. You think I’d belong in the US? Do you really? What do you reckon your nice academic colleagues will see when they look at me? Do you think they’ll see a postgrad with a ‘promising career’ or do you think they’ll see a threat? They’ll take one fucking look at my face and I’ll be on some god damn fucking watch list.” 

“Don’t be absurd Levi, it wouldn’t be like that.” 

Erwin’s head is swimming, and there’s no hiding his irritation now. 

“It would be just like that,” Levi spits back, before turning away from the camera with a look of sour disgust. 

Erwin gazes at his screen, silenced by the sheer force of Levi’s fury. He’s still scrabbling for a response when Levi speaks up again.

“And besides all that bullshit, what would this make me? You’re a senior professor and I’d be, what? Your pet postgrad rescued from some Middle East hell hole? An extracurricular side project? That’s gonna look real nice isn’t is Erwin? Good for my career? Yeah right…”

The insinuation snaps what little control Erwin retains over his temper, lighting an icy spark of anger in his chest. 

“Is that really what you think of me Levi?” His voice sounds cold even to his own ears. “I thought you knew me better than that.” 

“Yeah?” Levi drawls, leaning back from his screen and hooking one arm casually over the back of his chair. “Well I’m so fucking sorry to disappoint you Dr Smith.” Then without warning, he leans forward and cuts off the call. 

Erwin finds himself staring open mouthed at an empty Skype window, heart hammering in his chest, Levi’s voice, dripping with contempt, ringing in his ears. He sits motionless for long minutes, gazing at his screen in unseeing disbelief, unable to comprehend how all his careful schemes have gone to hell in a handcart. Only an hour ago he had been buzzing with the anticipation of telling Levi about his plans, about bringing him to the US, watching his research progress, seeing him get the credit he is undoubtedly due, being there when his career takes off, because Erwin has absolutely no doubt in his mind that Levi will succeed. But more than that, there had been the promise of seeing Levi again, of being near him, of being with him, of being _something_ with him. But now? Now Erwin realizes that all his hopes have been nothing more than delusions, castles built on sand, and, much as he’s loath to admit it, he knows that Levi was right, for people like them, it just doesn’t work that way. 

Erwin snaps his laptop shut and it takes every last shred of his tattered self-restraint not to hurl it against the wall. 

It takes days for Erwin’s anger to subside, and every time his thoughts turn to Levi it flares back into life, a cold burn of outraged fury. He sleeps only fitfully and lies awake in the grey light of dawn fuming over Levi’s ingratitude, berating himself for having been taken in by him, for trusting him, for placing such faith in him, for having misjudged him so badly. He had gone out of his way to try and help, had offered Levi a once in a lifetime opportunity and what had he done? Thrown it back in his face with scorn. 

But it’s Levi’s insinuation that he had ulterior motives that stings the most. Hadn’t _he_ been the one to make the first move after all? Though for all his indignant anger, Erwin knows that the reason the accusation infuriates him so much is that there is an undeniable grain of truth in it. And maybe that’s why, despite having washed his hands of Levi, he can’t help checking his phone a dozen times a day. But his phone, like Levi, remains stubbornly silent.

By the fourth day Erwin’s anger has burned out, leaving in its place the bitterness of shame and the dawning realization of guilt. He stumbles through the week in a numb, empty daze, snapping at colleagues and sending Hanji away with a flea in their ear when they have the temerity to corner him and ask what the matter is. 

By the end of the week Erwin is consumed by remorse. He knows now that he has fucked up badly. Knows that he has wronged Levi, that he has transgressed. How could he have been so fucking stupid? Erwin is supposed to be an intelligent man but, when it mattered the most, he acted like an arrogant, patronizing fool. Never once did he stop to ask Levi what _he_ wanted, to consider that he might have his own plans for the future, to look at things from _his_ perspective. Levi had got by perfectly well before Erwin had come along with his white savior complex and negated his agency as effectively as if he had been a child. He feels sick with shame when he thinks about it.

Erwin hears nothing from Levi for the entire week, but then again, he doesn’t expect to. He knows he has burnt his bridges; he has wounded Levi’s fierce stubborn pride and he does not expect to be forgiven. If he knows anything about the man, it’s that that he will not back down. Erwin has blown whatever slender chance he had with Levi, and though he knows it’s a lost cause, he would willingly sacrifice everything to see Levi again, to hear his voice one last time, if only to say goodbye. 

On Friday morning Erwin screws up his courage and Skypes Levi.

_I’m sorry Levi. I know I was patronising and arrogant and I know I don’t deserve the time of day from you, but I just wanted to apologise. I am so, so sorry._

There’s no response. 

He tries again when he gets home that evening. 

_Please Levi if we could just talk_

He doesn’t care if he sounds desperate. 

Still no response. 

Erwin fetches a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen and drinks steadily until he can no longer feel the suffocating weight of guilt and grief and regret. 

Erwin wakes a little before mid day feeling like death warmed up. He has no recollection of getting to bed but he’s thankful he made it this far and had enough sense left to take off most of his clothes, even if the rest are lying in a heap on the floor. His head swims and the room lurches as he sits up, but his need for coffee is stronger than his desire to lie down and wait for death. He manages to stagger through to the kitchen where he finds his phone lying abandoned and out of charge on the kitchen table. He plugs it in, makes a pot of coffee and stumbles through to the living room where he subsides onto the couch.

It’s late afternoon when Erwin surfaces again, the coffee has long since grown cold but his head feels a little clearer and when he sits up the room remains blessedly stationary. He stretches and makes his way back through to the kitchen where he makes a fresh pot of coffee and swallows some paracetamol. He unplugs his phone, turns it on and stares in disbelief as it flickers into life. There on his lock screen are two missed calls and a message from Levi. 

_Are you going to fucking answer then?_

Erwin doesn’t hesitate, he hits the call button immediately and paces around the kitchen as it rings. 

“Come on, come on Levi, pick up, please just pick up…” 

Just as he’s sure the call is going to ring out, Levi answers. 

He’s at home and appears to have just come back from work as he’s wearing the white shirt and black waistcoat he wears at the café. He looks tired and drawn but he’s there and right now that’s all that matters. 

“Levi…” 

It’s all Erwin can manage before the words die in his throat, but if Levi notices the way his voice hitches, he gives no indication. 

“You look like shit Erwin.”

It’s only then that Erwin realizes he must look like something the cat dragged in; he’s only half dressed and hasn’t showered or shaved since waking up.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, dragging his hand through his hair, “rough night.” 

“I know.” 

Levi’s expression gives nothing away. 

“You do?”

Erwin swallows hard, mouth dry as ashes. 

“Yeah, you called me.” 

“I did?”

A wave of nausea washes over Erwin. 

“You don’t remember?”

“Oh fuck.” 

“I take it that’s a no then. You woke me up shit head.” 

“Shit. _Shit._ What did I say?”

“Fucked if I know,” Levi shrugs irritably, “I was asleep when you called, you left a message but I couldn’t make it out. You…” he hesitates, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Erwin can almost imagine he hears a trace of concern in Levi’s voice, “you didn’t sound good.” 

“No. I probably didn’t.” 

Erwin doesn’t even want to imagine what he sounded like, what he said. Did he apologise? Did he loose his temper? Did he shout or plead or beg? Did he cry? The very thought makes him sick to his stomach. 

“I called back when I got up but you didn’t answer.” 

“Oh god, I’m sorry Levi, I didn’t mean to…”

“Yeah whatever,” Levi cuts him off unceremoniously, “just say what you have to say.”

Erwin stares at him for a moment, speechless, and he knows that this is his last chance. His last chance to atone for his ignorance and arrogance. His last chance to prove to Levi that he respects him, that he is worthy of his trust. 

“I…I wanted to apologise Levi. I know I fucked up. I didn’t mean to patronize you. I realize that I was arrogant and presumptuous and you’re right, I hadn’t stopped to consider your own wishes and the reality of your situation,” Erwin cringes inwardly at his clumsy euphemism, “and I realize that it’s hopelessly naive to think that your experience of coming here could be in any way comparable to mine, but…but…” Erwin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “I just really want to see you again Levi, I just want to try and figure out how to make this work.” Erwin hesitates again, and this is it, this is what it all comes down to. “I want to be with you Levi. At least I want to try. Maybe it’s just a childish delusion but I can’t get the thought of it out of my head.” 

The words tumble out in a rush leaving Erwin strangely lightheaded. Levi eyes him steadily for a moment.

“Then why didn’t you say?” 

The hurt in his voice is so raw, so naked, that it twists in Erwin’s gut like a knife.

“What?” 

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Levi repeats softly. 

“Didn’t I?” 

Erwin is beyond confused. He has been holding this torch for so long, this yearning to see Levi, to touch him, kiss him, embrace him, this burning need just to be close to him. It has been such a powerful, overwhelming force in Erwin’s life for the past six months that it is inconceivable to him that he has not voiced his desire before. 

“No you didn’t,” Levi pauses, looking away, “would it have hurt to be fucking honest?”

There’s no venom in it, no anger, he just sounds hurt and sad and when he glances up again it’s with a look of quiet desperation that fills Erwin with shame. 

“I’m saying it now Levi,” and Erwin doesn’t care if his voice breaks, “I want to be with you. Somehow, anyhow.”

Levi sighs and turns away, shoulders slumping, though whether from relief or resignation, defeat or despair, Erwin can not say. And that’s when he sees it. That’s when he realises that for all Levi’s strength, all his fierce pride and stubborn independence, there is something fragile at the core of him, something that has been broken once before, something that he will not suffer to break again, least it shatter him entirely. 

And right now Erwin would sell his soul to touch him, just to reach out and place one hand in his. But he can’t. They are a world apart and divided by more than miles. 

It’s Levi who eventually breaks the silence.

“Fuck, I’m sorry Erwin, I didn’t mean what I said.” Erwin blinks, uncomprehending, as Levi continues, “well I did, I meant a lot of it, but I know you’re not like that, it’s just…”

It’s the very last thing Erwin expects.

“Levi, for god’s sake, you don’t have to apologise or explain your self or…”

“Would you just shut the fuck up and listen? I’ve worked hard to get here Erwin, really fucking hard, and I’m not going to let you or anyone else take credit for that.”

“Levi I would never…”

“Yeah you might not, but other people sure as hell will think it.” 

“Then prove them wrong Levi. Whatever they think, prove them wrong.” 

Erwin doesn’t mean it to sound like a challenge, and he steels himself as he sees something flare in Levi’s grey eyes like sparks struck off flint. 

Levi crosses his arms and regards him a moment. 

“Ok I’ll think about it.” 

Erwin is lost for a second, unable to follow Levi’s train of thought.

“I’m sorry, you’ll what?” 

“I’ll think about it, about coming to the States, if you get the funding. I know it’s a good opportunity and a few months at a US university won’t do my career any harm, even if I do have to put up with ignorant shitheads looking at me like I’m some kind of fucking threat. But,” and he jabs one finger at Erwin from five thousand miles away, “if I come, and it’s a big fucking if, I’ll do it on my terms and it’ll be temporary. I meant what I said Erwin, I’m not leaving here, not for you, not for anyone.” 

“Of course,” Erwin nods, not quite believing what he’s hearing. 

“Although,” Levi continues, his soft tone belying the challenging, “if you really want to try and make this work, why don’t you get your fucking ass over here?”

“Okay,” Erwin replies without hesitation, “I will.”

“Yeah, right.” Levi exhales a small huff of mirthless laughter.

“I will, I promise. I’ll apply for a sabbatical. I’ll speak to Shadis on Monday.” 

“Really?” Levi is eyeing him sceptically, but there’s the slightest hint of a smile on his lips and that’s all Erwin needs. 

“Really.” He reaffirms with conviction. “Okay?”

Levi pauses, nods, and this time he does smile. 

“Tayeb.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Don't Fuck With My Cat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uk3SvrERXc8) is a song by Lumi who were prominent on the Beirut electro-pop scene around 2006.


	15. Words and pictures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to birbwin for patient beta and Arabic language assistance, seitsensarvi for giving a voice to Francophone Levi, and gaywin for introducing me to Arab Idol (what have you done??!). This fic would be nothing without you guys.

Once the idea of applying for a sabbatical occurs to Erwin he cannot fathom why he hadn’t thought of it before. Although going back to Jordan had crossed his mind, he had been so focused on his plans to bring Levi to the US that he had never really considered returning to the Middle East as being a realistic possibility. If he is being honest, Erwin is slightly apprehensive about it, but he is firmly convinced that he can make the best of anything if he sets his mind to it, and he has more reasons that most to set his mind to this. He still can’t help cringing at his own condescension and insensitivity though. Bringing Levi to the US had seemed like such an obvious solution to him, but of course that was before he had taken Levi’s own thoughts on the matter into account. Erwin feels sick to his stomach when he realises just how close he came to driving Levi away with his patronising arrogance. 

By way of recompense Erwin spends much of the following week tracking down the relevant institutional policies and procedures that relate to academic sabbaticals. As he expected, the guidelines are baroque in their complexity, with sabbatical applications requiring the approval of a laughable number of committees, one of which meets only once a year, however he is confident that he can circumvent the legislation with a little judicious manoeuvring. Erwin has never been one to play institutional politics, but by virtue of the external funding he brings in, he has enough clout to be able to pull a few strings. 

On Thursday afternoon he drops by Nile’s office to invite him for a game of squash the following lunchtime. 

“I wish,” Nile sniffs irritably, while frantically shuffling through a pile of paperwork on his desk. “I’ve got the Research Ethics Committee at one tomorrow. Where the fuck is that report?” 

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate,” Erwin comments blandly, taking a seat opposite Nile’s desk. Nile doesn’t need any further invitation to launch into a rant about impossible workloads, lack of support and the incompetence of senior management. Erwin listens sympathetically, waiting for Nile to pause, before offering “Anything I can do to help? I could take the research ethics meeting off your hands if you like?”

“Really?” Nile squints at him suspiciously, “why would you want to do that?” 

“Well you’re obviously overloaded and to be honest, what with this new project in the pipeline, I could do with getting up to speed with the current research ethics guidelines. I’m free tomorrow, I could go along and report back.” 

“You’d do that?” 

“Of course,” Erwin smiles, “not a problem.”

“Great, thanks, appreciate it Erwin,” Nile nods tightly before continuing to ransack his desk. “I’m sure I saw that damn report here somewhere…”

The Research Ethics Committee is even duller and more tedious than Erwin had imagined and he spends the majority of the meeting discretely clearing his inbox. He hangs back at the end, carefully timing his departure to coincide with the Committee Chair, Keith Shadis, who also happens to be Dean. The circumstances of Shadis appointment to Dean are something of a mystery as the man is neither ambitious nor political. At best he has a reputation as a safe pair of hands, at worst he is regarded as weak and ineffectual. His reputation is of no concern to Erwin however. 

“Keith,” Erwin extends his hand as they reach the doorway, “good to see you.” 

“Erwin,” Shadis responds, “we don’t often see you here. How are you? You’ve just submitted another project proposal I hear?”

“Yes,” Erwin replies, shaking his hand firmly, “and I think there’s a very good chance it’ll be funded, though the project isn’t scheduled to start until next academic year. Actually talking of which, I’ve been thinking of applying for a sabbatical, take time out to finish some publications I’ve been working on before the new project gets underway….” 

“And that,” Erwin explains triumphantly to Levi the following evening, “is how I got the Dean to green light my sabbatical application, without having to go through all those tiresome committees.” 

“Devious bastard,” Levi deadpans “remind me never to trust you.” Only the slightest upward tilt of his brow indicates that he is clearly taking the piss. 

“Levi!” Erwin huffs in mock affront “I’m hurt, how can you say that?

Levi snorts and rolls his eyes. 

“Stop pouting for fuck sake.”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” Erwin concedes, “but I promise you can trust me to do whatever it takes to get this sabbatical approved, and your fellowship. I’m nearly there, I just need to get Nile to sign off the sabbatical.”

“Who’s Nile?” 

“Deputy Head of Department and head of the Research Committee for our school, among other things. Nile’s angling to be next Vice Dean so he never misses a chance to chair a committee. 

“He sounds like a dick,” Levi comments dryly. 

“He’s not so bad. He’s a friend, and he owes me a few favours so it shouldn’t be a problem. He’s married to Marie,” Erwin adds as an after thought, “the woman I used to be engaged to.” 

“That why he owes you a favour?”

“Levi…” Erwin sighs, though he can’t help smirking a little at Levi’s sarcasm. “Anyway, with any luck I might be able to come over as early as next semester, if the university in Amman will have me of course. 

“The fuck are you talking about? Of course they’ll have you. It’s not like they’re going to turn their nose up at a big Ivy League hot shot like you.”

Erwin colours at the back handed compliment. 

“I’m hardly that Levi…” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Levi waves his hand dismissively. “They’ll have you.”

“Of course I still have to sort out all the visa regulations,” Erwin adds, deftly turning the conversation away from his own reputation, “though I suspect that may be more of an issue for your fellowship than my sabbatical.” 

“Understatement of the fucking century,” Levi replies, “anyway you’ll have plenty of time to get it sorted out while I’m away.”

Erwin’s stomach drops.

“You’re going away? Where? When?”

“Fieldwork. Got a six-week gig on a project with a unit from Irbid University. I’ve worked with them before.” 

“Six weeks?” Erwin’s voice sounds a little tight, “where will you be working?”

“Just north of Mafraq.”

Erwin hastily pulls up a browser.

“Isn’t that a bit close to the Syrian border?”

It’s an effort to keep his voice steady.

“A bit,” Levi shrugs, “it’s no closer than Umm el-Jimal. We won’t be going any nearer. The border’s crawling with military anyway.” 

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

“We’ll be fine,” Levi replies firmly, “the guys from Irbid know the area. We know what we’re doing. I’ll get to do some of my own fieldwork too. It’s good timing. The network’s patchy up there and I’ll be working, so I won’t be able to call often, I’ll text though.” 

“Okay,” Erwin swallows, “keep in touch when you can?”

“Sure.”

“When do you leave?”

“End of the week.”

“Oh….”

The end of the week is only a couple of days away and Erwin wants to tell him not to go. To stay in Amman where it’s safe, where Erwin can call him whenever he wants, speak to him any time he needs to hear his voice. But Erwin knows he has no right to even think these things, never mind voice them. His anxious train of thought is interrupted by a snort of laughter from Levi.

“Fuck,” he laughs, “you look like a kicked dog. It’s just a few weeks, it’s not the end of world.” 

_But what if…_ a voice starts in Erwin’s head, _What if? What if it’s not just a few weeks? What if something happens? What if it_ is _the end of the world?_

“Of course,” Erwin smiles weakly “just take care, okay Levi?” 

Levi leaves three days later, they have a rushed Skype call early on Saturday morning that leaves Erwin jittery and on edge, and then he’s gone.

* * *

The first opportunity Erwin has the following Monday he goes to find Hanji. He hasn’t seen them since he sent them away with a flea in their ear the previous week and he owes them an apology. It seems like a lifetime ago now, a surreal nightmare, those seven days when Erwin believed he had lost Levi. 

Around lunchtime, Erwin picks up two coffees and makes his way to Hanji’s tiny cramped office with the window that looks out onto a brick wall. There are papers, journals, finds boxes and empty coffee cups littering every surface. Hanji is sitting behind their desk, squinting at their laptop and tapping away furiously when Erwin enters. 

“Hanji.”

“Erwin.”

Hanji stops typing and leans back, crossing their arms over their chest and fixing him with an unimpressed glare. 

“Peace offering?” Erwin places one of the cups of coffee on the desk in front of them. “I think I owe you an apology. I didn’t mean to snap at you last week.” 

“Snap at me? You just about took my fucking head off!” Hanji retorts. “What the hell is wrong with you Erwin? You’re all over the place.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Hanji snaps the lid off the coffee and sniffs it suspiciously. 

“Is this a caramel latte? Okay, I’ll consider forgiving you.” 

“Thanks,” Erwin replies, a little sheepishly. 

Hanji takes a sip of the coffee and pushes their glasses up onto their forehead. 

“So, gonna tell me what all this is about?”

“I want to ask your advice Hanji…”

“That’s not really an answer Erwin, but okay, shoot.”

“I’m applying for a sabbatical.” 

“Oh?”

Erwin takes a deep breath. 

“So I can go back to Jordan.” Somehow it sounds like a confession. “To do some work,” he clarifies hastily. 

“Oh!” Suddenly Hanji is all ears, “well that’s….interesting. Tell me more?”

“I’m not sure there’s much more to tell,” Erwin lies, “I just wanted to ask your advice about working in the Middle East.”

Hanji peers at him for a moment, and Erwin has the uncomfortable feeling that they’re not buying it. He’s not wrong.

“Bullshit Erwin. This isn’t just about work. What’s going on? Did you meet someone at the conference? The one you were at earlier in the year in Amman?”

“No…” Erwin starts, but really? He knows he’s never going to fool Hanji. “Okay, well, maybe I did…” 

“I knew it!” Hanji shrieks, thumping the desk triumphantly. “I fucking knew it! Come on then, spit it out. Is it someone on the project?” 

Erwin sighs and sits down, perching himself on the edge of a chair piled with sample bags filled with bone fragments. 

“Not exactly, they’re doing a bit of work on the project, helping with the petrographic analysis, but their own research is fieldwork based. They’re doing a thesis on the early historic sites of the….”

“Whoa! What the fuck Erwin?” Hanji interrupts, slamming their cup down so suddenly that coffee slops out onto the desk, narrowly missing their laptop. “Have you taken leave of your senses? If you’re going to have a mid life crisis, can you not just buy a sports car or a souped up motor bike or something sad like that? Fucking postgrads at your age is just nasty.” 

“Hanji,” Erwin groans, heat rising in his face, “I’m not fucking anyone, and besides, they’re not far off my age.”

“A mature student? Oh, okay I guess I’ll let you off. Come on then, who is she?”

Erwin pauses, Hanji is a good friend, and it’s not that he’s in the closet, not really, it’s just that he tends not to discuss his personal life with anyone other than Mike. Not that there’s been much to discuss for the last few years, a few causal flings and that’s been about it. But somehow this is different; Levi deserves honesty. 

“It’s not a she,” Erwin replies carefully, “it’s a he, and his name is Levi.” 

“Oh. Oh!” Hanji’s eyes widen. “Shit, sorry Erwin, I shouldn’t make assumptions. That’s bad, really bad, sorry. Hang on…wait a minute…Levi…Levi...Holy fuck! Lebanese guy?” They’re bouncing in their chair with excitement. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! I know him!”

“You do?” Erwin blinks in astonishment. 

“Well not know him exactly, I’ve met him.”

“You have? Where?”

“Well not met him exactly, I saw him once, up at Ajlun, he was with a survey team from Irbid. I was passing through so I stopped to speak to them. He told me to fuck off because I was standing in front of the prism.”

Erwin can’t help laughing. Garrulous exuberant Hanji is pretty much the polar opposite of Levi, though in a perverse kind of way, Erwin suspects that they would get on rather well if they could learn to put up with each other.

“Yeah, that sounds like Levi.”

“Fuck, Erwin, you’re setting your sights high there! Well,” Hanji giggles, “not _high_ exactly.” They hold their hand out flat, about three feet above the floor. “He’s kinda tiny.” Erwin sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway,” Hanji stifles their giggles with some effort, “he’s quite something, not very approachable though. How did you meet him? Was he at the conference?”

“Yes, he tore my paper to shreds. Pointed out the error in the dating calibration in front of the whole audience.” 

“Ouch,” Hanji winces, “that’s harsh.”

“And then he took me up to Umm el-Jimal and we got stuck there over night because of a sand storm.”

“Oh my god Erwin!” Hanji snorts. “That sounds like something out of a bad romance novel!”

“Hardly,” Erwin replies dryly, conscious of the heat rising in his face, “we spent the night in a tool store.” 

“Awww! So romantic,” Hanji coos fluttering their eye lashes behind filthy lenses. It’s a disconcerting sight. “So he’s the real reason for this sabbatical malarkey then?”

“No,” Erwin starts, but he’s come this far now, and there’s no point in half measures, “well, if you put it like that, I guess he is.” 

“Good.” Hanji replies, suddenly serious, “I’m glad. I don’t want to see you grow old here Erwin. You deserve so much more this. Levi though? Fuck. Good luck with that!”

“Thanks,” Erwin replies, oddly and genuinely touched. “Anyway never mind Levi, I wanted to ask your advice about working in the Middle East. I don’t speak Arabic, so I guess I need to learn?”

“Hmmm…” Hanji frowns, “well, I do know a senior academic who’s spent his entire career working in the Middle East and steadfastly refused to learn a single word of Arabic. He’s a dickhead though; you don’t want to be like him.” They wrinkle their nose in disgust. “You can go a long way with English but I’d suggest learning as much as you can before you go. If you’re going to live somewhere, it’s common courtesy to learn the language.” 

Erwin takes Hanji’s advice to heart and later in the week enrols for an Arabic evening class at the university. 

* * *

He hears nothing from Levi for several days after he leaves, but towards the end of the week he starts messaging Erwin, short updates of their progress and images taken on the road as they travel north. Sometimes it’s sites they pass en route, a Roman cistern, traces of a prehistoric kite, the remains of an ancient fortress of indeterminate date. Sometimes it’s a gas station or a garage. Sometimes kids playing football in a dusty field beside a breeze-block school. Sometimes it’s a flock of goats accompanied by a bored looking shepherd boy, or a cat curled up in the shade. Sometimes it’s a ribbon of road stretching out into the desert; sometimes it’s just the horizon. Often it’s a tiny cup of coffee or a glass of tea. 

Erwin sends back pictures of Americanos and lattes and white chocolate mochas. One day he sends a snap of the ancient chipped mug he uses in the lab. Levi’s response is swift and unimpressed. 

_That’s fucking disgusting_  
_Do you ever wash that thing?_  
_You’re going to die of something horrible if out drink out of that_

One morning Erwin wakens to a picture of a fresco; a naked woman, chest crossed with straps, a necklace of hearts nestling between her breasts. The paint is chipped and faded but her gaze remains steady and unabashed.

 _Naked ladies Levi? I didn’t think that was your style._

He waits for the comeback, though it’s late in the afternoon before Levi replies. 

_Philistine. She’s from Qasr Amra, & an important example of early Islamic art. _

_She’s not wearing very much…._

_It’s a fucking bathhouse idiot_

* * *

Erwin perseveres with his language classes but is lost within a matter of weeks. 

“It’s hopeless,” he complains to Hanji, “I never was any good at languages, that’s why I took sciences instead.”

“Oh come on Erwin,” Hanji scolds, “you’re not dumb, I’m sure you can pick it up if you try.” 

“I am trying!” Erwin protests, “I just haven’t a clue what the teacher is saying most of the time.”

“Well….” Hanji starts with a sly smirk, “they do say that the best way to learn a new language is to shack up with someone who speaks it.” They waggle their eyebrows suggestively. 

“Really?” Erwin replies sourly. “Is that how _you_ learned to speak Arabic then?” 

“No!” Hanji snaps, affronted. “Of course not! What do you take me for? I learned Arabic when I was working out there. It is how I learned Portuguese though! I met this really cute girl called Petra in a Brazilian restaurant once…”

“Ok, ok, Hanji, I get the picture.” Erwin has no desire to hear the intimate details of Hanji’s private life. “Anyway that doesn’t help. I am not shacking up with anyone, as you so delightfully put it, so if you have any other helpful suggestions I’d appreciate hearing them.” 

“Hmmmm….wait, I know! You could try watching Arabic tv! It’s a great way to tune your ear into the language and you can watch loads of Arabic shows and channels online now.”

It’s with some trepidation that Erwin makes his way over the Hanji’s flat with a bottle of wine one Friday evening to being his education in Arabic television. Knowing Hanji, he expects to find himself watching Al Jazeera current affairs programmes or some obscure documentary on the finer points of Middle Eastern history. The last thing he expects is Arab Idol. It certainly proves to be an education, though not the kind Erwin expects. It doesn’t take long before he’s seduced by the glitter and mascara and the earnest young men and they spend the majority of the evening bickering about the biases of the four judges. It’s well after midnight when he finally gets home, a little drunk, humming off key, and having learned a few Arabic phrases that are unlikely to come up in his language class. He checks the time before messaging Levi.

_Levi we need to talk. You didn’t tell me about Arab Idol._

_Wft are you talking about_

_Why have you kept this from me?_

_Erwin?  
Erwin someone’s hacked your Skype account or you’re a bigger fucking idiot than I thought. _

_Not an idiot. Hanji thought it would be a good way to learn Arabic._

_Who tf is Hanji_

_They’re a colleague; they speak Arabic and work in the ME._

_Are they an Arab?_

_No they’re…actually now I come to think of it have no idea what Hanji is or where they’re from. They know you though._

_wtf??_

_Said they met you with some people from Irbid while you were surveying somewhere. Said you told them to fuck off._

_Probably_

_So what you think? Nancy or Ahlam?_

_الله يعينك_

_What does that mean?_

_Ask your friend, now go to bed idiot, I’ve got work to do._

* * *

Confident that his sabbatical application is all but done and dusted, barring Nile’s rubber stamp, Erwin starts picking his way through the Gordian knot of red tape and bureaucracy required to secure the necessary authorisation and work permits for Levi’s fellowship. He had naively assumed that the procedure wouldn’t be too dissimilar from when he applied for his own fellowship years before, but he is quickly disabused of that misconception. 

_It’s ridiculous,_ he complains to Levi, _it’s so much easier to arrange fellowships for European students._

_Well don’t blame me. Nothing I can do about your country’s shitty immigration rules._

_It’s not my country, but yes you’re right. This would be so much easier if you were, I don’t know, French or something._

_Ouais. Sauf que je suis pas français, c’est con._

_I didn’t know you could speak French Levi?_

_Bien sûr que je parle français, tu t’imagines que j’ai grandi où exactement ?_

Erwin racks his brains and just about manages to decipher the gist of Levi's comment.

_Oh right, I hadn’t thought about that. I’m hopeless at languages, I barely even scraped a pass in O-grade French._

_Et tu vois, c’est dingue, ça ne t’empêche même pas d’attendre du reste du monde qu’il parle ta langue à toi. Most of the Beirut street kids I grew up with spoke at least three languages, four in the Armenian quarter._

_I know. You put me to shame Levi :(_

_Arrête de pleurnicher, vieillard._

As Erwin drifts off to sleep that night he tries to imagine Levi speaking French, wonders what his accent sounds like, wonders how many other facets of Levi he has yet to discover. Wonders at how much he has taken for granted all his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Qasr Amra](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qasr_Amra), which dates from the 8th century AD, is one of the "desert castles" in northern Jordan and it's significant because of it's Byzantine influenced figurative frescoes which are very rare in Islamic art. You can see a picture of the beautiful image Levi sent Erwin here: [Qasr Amra Fresco](http://questier.com/Photos/200512_Jordan/tn/20051225-104842_Jordan_Qasr_Amra_%5BQuseir_Amra%5D_%5BQusayr_Amra%5D_Fresco_Paintings_Detail.jpg.html).


	16. Yalla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, after 16 chapters we're almost back to where we started and, all being well, the next chapter should be the last one :}
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented on the last two chapters. I'm so sorry I haven't had a chance to reply to your comments but believe me when I say each and every one of them means the world to me <3 Hopefully I can catch up once I get the last chapter finished.
> 
> And of course thank you as always to my wonderful beta birb.

Three weeks after Levi leaves Amman, Erwin receives a Skype call. It’s late afternoon in Jordan, mid morning in the US and Erwin is in the office reviewing journal papers. 

“Erwin? You there? Can you see me?” 

Levi’s voice sounds distorted, and the picture is fuzzy, but that does nothing to stop Erwin’s heart leaping into his throat. 

“Yes Levi, I can see you,” Erwin replies, scrabbling to plug in his headphones. From what little he can make out, Levi is on a rooftop of some kind and there appears to be other figures milling around behind him. “Where are you? Is everything all right?”

“We’re good, this is the house we’re staying in. Look at this.”

He points his phone camera down into the street and Erwin can see a tight knot of men, there’s chanting, shouting, the sound of gunfire. Erwin’s stomach drops.

“Jesus Christ Levi what the fuck’s going on? Get out of there!”

The camera turns back to Levi who looks perfectly calm, though the men behind him are talking rapidly in Arabic.

“It’s fine Erwin, it’s a wedding. They’re Bedouin. It’s the family next door to the house we’re staying in. They’re just celebrating.”

The camera turns back to the street and pans across the road where a group of women are singing and dancing in a circle in front of a house opposite. There’s another sudden burst of automatic gunfire and the image shakes and goes dark. 

Erwin freezes in horror but before he can find his voice Levi’s face reappears. He’s calling something over his shoulder in Arabic and Erwin can hear laughter over another rattle of gunfire. 

“Shit that was a bit close. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he grins, “we’d better go down and pay our respects.” 

“Are you sure it’s safe?” 

“Of course it’s safe, it’s a wedding.”

Behind Levi, someone shouts something in Arabic and there’s more laughter. 

“What did he say?” Erwin asks, squinting at the fuzzy picture. 

“He said probably safer down there than up here,” Levi translates, before adding more quietly “I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“Yes, Levi, please do that.” 

Erwin feels queasy but he manages to hitch an unconvincing smile onto his face. It’s only when Levi shuts off the call that he realises how badly his hands are shaking. 

Over the next fortnight Erwin perseveres with the application for Levi’s fellowship, eventually managing to get the funding in place for the following academic year, and completing the paper work to have the position approved by all the necessary authorities. Levi will have to submit his own visa application but in order to ease the process Erwin diligently does as much research as possible into what that will involve. However after one particularly circuitous and unproductive e-mail exchange about visa regulations that wastes almost an entire week, Erwin is almost ready to give up in exasperation. 

_These regulations are ridiculous_ , he Skypes Levi in an uncharacteristic fit of frustration, _this would be a hell of a lot easier if you were married._

_What the fuck are you talking about?_

_Visa regulations, work permits, it’s simpler if you’re married to someone in the US._

_Like I’m ever going to get married._

_Well technically you could._ Erwin knows he’s playing devil’s advocate, but sometimes he just can’t help himself. _There’s no law against it here. Not since last year._

_Fuck off. I’m not marrying anyone._

_Why not?_ Erwin can’t resist. It’s worth it just to imagine Levi’s affronted expression. 

_I’m not marrying anyone who can’t even wash up their own coffee cup._

That makes Erwin laugh out loud. 

_I love you too Levi :P_

It’s only after Erwin hits send that he freezes, realising too late what he’s said. He may have intended it facetiously but with the words staring him in the face he can’t deny their truth. The realisation hits him like a freight train. It’s been there all along of course, this persistent feeling, this undeniable certainty, niggling at the back of his mind. He’s done his damnedest not to acknowledge it, to avert his eyes from the indisputable truth, but now there it is, right there in front of him in black and white. 

Erwin waits, stomach squirming, breath caught in his throat. There’s no reply. He hesitates, hands hovering over the keyboard. Should he delete the message? Should be apologise? Should he take it back? He doesn’t even know if he wants to. 

He’s still dithering when Levi replies. 

_Learn to wash your fucking mug yeah?_

Erwin breathes a sigh of relief, and something in his chest swells. 

A week before Levi is due to return to Amman Erwin is woken by a call in the small hours of the morning. He grasps blindly for his phone in the dark, hits the green button and is surprised to find himself squinting through bleary eyes at Levi. He’s wearing his keffiyeh and a faded khaki shirt and he appears to be standing in the middle of the desert. 

“Wake up Erwin! Want to come for a walk?” 

“Levi…” Erwin slurs, tongue still thick with sleep, “Where are you? What time is it?” 

“It’s just about eleven am.”

Four in the morning on the East Coast but Erwin is already wide awake, anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Levi, damn, it’s good to see you. How are you even online though? Where the hell are you?” 

“South Hauran, just west of Mafraq, I took the day off to check out a site for my own research. Want to come and see?” 

“Of course, I’d love to, but how have you even got a signal?” Erwin rubs his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to focus, “you look like you’re in the middle of the desert.” 

“Yeah, I know, I am, but the GPRS network’s good round here, unintended consequence of the militarization of the border. Look, we’re going up there.” 

The camera swings round and Erwin can just make out a rocky outcrop on the near horizon. 

“What’s up there?” 

“Nabatean tomb. There was one reported around here at the turn of the last century but no one’s been able to find it since. Local archaeologist tracked it down last month after speaking to the shepherds in the next valley over. They’ve been using it as an over-night shelter for years. Want to go see? 

“I’d love to,” Erwin grins. 

“It’ll take me an hour to get up there, go take a shower or a shit or what ever and I’ll try and call you back once I reach the top.” 

Erwin is sitting at his kitchen table freshly showered and on his second cup of coffee when Levi calls back just after five am. He has his keffiyeh wrapped around his face, but Erwin can tell from the crease at the side of his eyes that he’s smiling. 

“Okay? We’re here.” 

Levi flips the camera around and Erwin finds himself looking at a dark cleft in the rock. 

“You’re the first ajnabi to see this in over a hundred years Erwin Smith, I hope you appreciate that.”

“I do Levi. This is amazing!” 

The picture blacks out for a moment as Levi enters the tomb then a fuzzy image emerges as the camera readjusts. 

“Hold on…” Erwin hears Levi’s muffled voice in the background, “let me get my torch.” 

The picture brightens a little to reveal a small rough-hewn chamber with arched recesses carved into the rock. 

“These are where the bodies would have been placed,” Levi explains as the image zooms in on one of the alcoves. “It’s empty now, probably looted centuries ago, but you can still see come of the carvings in the rock.” 

Erwin watches the fuzzy pixelated image enthralled as Levi guides him round the small tomb explaining the layout and pointing out features here and there. Despite the picture freezing every few minutes, it’s an oddly moving experience, and by the time Levi and his phone emerge back into the daylight Erwin feels strangely choked. 

The image whites out for a moment as daylight floods the lens, then the camera flips around and Erwin finds himself staring at Levi again. His keffiyeh is hanging loose around his neck now and he’s squinting into the sunlight smiling. The sight makes Erwin’s breath catch in his throat. 

“So what do you think? Not bad?” 

It takes Erwin a moment to find his voice. 

“That was amazing Levi, thank you.” 

“Wait, there’s one more thing, look at this.” 

The camera flips around again and Erwin finds himself gazing out over the wide rocky bed of a dry wadi, low hills rise in the distance striated with grey-green olive groves, a heat haze shimmering on the horizon. It’s barren and beautiful and breathtaking. 

“It’s stunning Levi, I wish I could be there to see it.” 

The camera continues to pan across the vista for a moment before flipping back to Levi’s face. 

“Get your ass over here then and you can.” 

“I will. I promise.” 

Erwin has always prided himself on being a man of his word, but never has he meant a promise more than this. 

“Yalla.”

Levi’s voice sounds lower, thicker, than before. He’s still squinting into the sun, so his smile looks even more like a grimace than usual. Something inside Erwin cracks and melts. 

“I have to go now,” Levi continues, brisk again, “I need to survey his shit and then get back down to meet the others.”

“Of course, thanks for the fieldtrip Levi. Really, it’s been wonderful.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Levi drawls. His gaze flickers away from the camera but he’s still smiling and it’s probably just that he’s caught the desert sun, but Erwin can almost imagine a faint touch of colour flushing his face. 

With all the paperwork for Levi’s fellowship finalised, Erwin turns his attention back to his own sabbatical. Although Shadis approved his application weeks ago, he is still waiting for Nile’s Research Committee to rubber stamp the decision. After several e-mails go unanswered and Nile is always “busy”, or on his way out every time Erwin drops by his office, he begins to grow impatient. He eventually manages to corner Nile as he leaves an Academic Strategy Committee meeting. 

“Nile, there you are!” Erwin hitches on a friendly unassuming smile, falling into step beside Nile. “I’ve been trying to catch you for weeks, I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” 

He slaps Nile companionably on the shoulder. Nile clears his throat and looks away; a nervous tic that Erwin is all too familiar with. 

“I’ve been busy,” he snaps testily, “the new strategy draft is due next week and we still have to agree targets for the year.”

“Sorry Nile I appreciate how busy you are, I won’t waste your time.” Erwin adopts his most conciliatory tone, “I just need to know if the Research Committee has signed off my sabbatical application?” 

Nile’s stops abruptly. 

“About that…” he starts, rubbing at the back of his neck. Erwin knows the gesture and it immediately starts alarm bells ringing. “There’s a bit of an issue…”

“An issue?” 

“I can’t approve your application.” 

“Sorry?” Erwin is sure he’s misheard. “But it’s already been approved, Shadis approved it last month. I’ve arranged cover for all my teaching and departmental duties next semester, the university in Amman is more than happy to host me, and I’ve already applied for my visa. The Research Committee only has to sign it off, it’s just a formality.”

“It isn’t just a formality Erwin, and the Research Committee is _not_ going to sign it off.” 

Erwin can’t help noticing how prissy Nile sounds when he attempts to assert his authority.

“As you know,” Nile clears his throat and Erwin knows he is about to get chapter and verse from the university statutes. “The Research Committee is responsible for overseeing all of the school’s research activities…” 

“Yes Nile, I know what the committee is for, I used to chair it myself, remember? I still don’t see what the problem is though” 

“The committee has undertaken a risk assessment and as a result has concluded that your sabbatical to Jordan can not be approved.” 

“A risk assessment? I don’t think I remember hearing anything about a risk assessment?” Erwin can feel his mask slipping as irritation starts to take hold. 

“All overseas research activities are now subject to a risk assessment and government travel advice specifically warns of the threat of violent actions against US citizens and urges caution around university campuses in Jordan due to the risk of demonstrations that could turn violent.” 

Erwin wonders just how long Nile has been memorizing the State Department travel warnings for this precise moment. 

“But,” he starts, “we’re partners in a major research project with the University of Jordan, I was out there for the conference earlier this year.”

“Policies change and so do travel guidelines,” Nile sniffs, “besides, that was completely different. You were there for a week, the cost of insurance for a six month sabbatical is far too high.”

“So it comes down to the cost of the insurance premium?” Erwin can feel his temper beginning to rise, but he manages to keep a lid on it with some difficulty. 

“As your employer this institution is responsible for your welfare and safety. Have you any idea what it would cost this university if anything happened to you out there? It all comes down to cost and reputational risk, you know how it works Erwin.” 

Nile’s own temper is getting the better of him now and Erwin can see beads of sweat glistening in his wispy moustache. 

“I’m sure we can resolve this,” Erwin starts reasonably, “if we just…” But Nile is clearly loosing patience. 

“Look Erwin,” he hisses, “if anything happens to you out there it’s my head it’ll come down on because I chair this fucking committee, not you.”

That’s when it starts to dawn on Erwin. This isn’t about any risk to him personally, or even the risk to the university, this is about the potential risk to Nile’s own reputation, something he guards jealously.

“Right. I see.” Erwin replies tightly. 

“Oh come on Erwin,” Nile snaps, giving up any pretense at professionalism, “it’s too fucking risky.”

“Risky?” Erwin asks calmly, folding his arms across his chest, “I’m not sure I follow?” 

“It’s the Middle East, Erwin, people have been shot during these campus demonstrations.” 

“Yes Nile, and this is the US and people are shot on campuses here every day.”

Nile gawps at him for a moment before snapping his mouth shut. 

“This discussion is over Smith. The committee’s decision is final. If you want a change of scenery, go do your sabbatical back in England.” 

Something cold and hard settles in Erwin’s gut as he watches Nile walk away. 

Erwin lets two days pass before he saunters into Nile’s office late in the afternoon. 

“Nile,” he smiles amicably, “are you busy?”

“I’m always busy,” Nile replies sourly, “if this is about your sabbatical again, I don’t have time to…” 

“Not at all,” Erwin laughs, “I was just going to ask if you fancied a game of squash after work?” 

“That’s all?” Nile squints at him suspiciously. 

“That’s all.” 

Something like relief floods Nile’s face.

“Well in that case…” 

They meet at the university sports centre late in the afternoon to play the best of five games. Nile easily takes the first two. 

“You’re getting slow Erwin,” he comments at the end of the second game, “must be old age catching up with you.” 

“You’re just too fast for me,” Erwin concedes ruefully, rubbing his left knee. “Me to serve?”

“Do your worst old man,” Nile smirks taking up position at the back of the court. 

“Oh,” Erwin pauses just as he’s about to serve, “I forgot to mention, I exchanged some e-mail with Ness the other day.” 

“Ness?” Nile looks up in surprise as the ball flies past him, thudding into the corner. 

“One to me. Yes, Dita Ness, you must remember him? You were doing your PhD at the same time as each other. Similar research as I recall. Didn’t you co-author several papers together?”

“Right, that Ness, yeah. Are you going to serve or what?”

“Oh sorry,” Erwin serves an easy ball that sets up a rhythmic rally. “He’s left academia all together, he’s working as an accountant now if you can believe that. Shame, wasn’t he earmarked for a promising academic career?” 

“Uh, I guess,” Nile mumbles as he misses an easy backhand. “A bit less chat Erwin, it’s hard to concentrate with you yacking away.” 

“Two. Sorry, I just thought you’d like to hear how he’s doing. I know you did a lot of work together.” 

Erwin’s third serve has a bit more aggression to it and sends Nile lunging across the court, missing the ball by inches. 

“Three.” Erwin smiles. “I always wondered why Ness never finished his PhD. I know you published right before him, any idea why that would be?”

“What the fuck are you driving at?” Nile steps forward right into Erwin’s space. “Every word of that thesis is my own.” 

“Of course it is,” Erwin replies, swinging his racket lazily, “heaven forbid that anyone should think otherwise, accusations of plagiarism and academic irregularity can be so very damaging to your career. But of course you know that as well as I do. Ready?”

Another serve slams past Nile. 

“Four,” Erwin tallies the points smoothly, “I must be getting into my stride.”

Erwin takes the next point, the next three games, and the match.

“Fancy a beer?” he asks as they towel off in the locker room afterwards. 

“Uh sorry can’t,” Nile shakes his head, avoiding Erwin’s gaze, “got to go back to the office, to finish up a couple of pieces of work.” 

Erwin takes his time on his way home, stopping off for a coffee and to pick up some groceries. By the time he gets back to his house there is already an e-mail waiting for him, notifying him that the Research Committee has approved his sabbatical application effective from the beginning of next semester the following month. 

“Good timing Nile,” Erwin comments dryly as he reads the e-mail, before firing off a Skype message to Levi

_Hey Levi when are you due back?_

It’s around midnight when the reply appears on his lock screen.

_Later today, early afternoon maybe. Been on the road for a couple of hours already._

_Great! I’ll call you in the morning. Travel safely Levi._

_tasbah `ala kheir_

Erwin feels like a kid at Christmas as he turns out the light that night. 

He takes his time the following morning. It’s a Saturday, so no need to get up for work. He gets up just after eight, showers, shaves and brews a pot of coffee, all the while conscious of the jittery sensation in his stomach and the smile that keeps tugging at his lips. It’s only after he finishes his second cup of coffee that he takes a deep breath, opens his laptop, and calls Levi. 

The call rings and rings and rings, until it rings out. The butterflies in Erwin’s stomach start to morph into something that twists and crawls. He hits the call button again, waits with his heart in his mouth, waits and waits and finally the call connects and he finds him self face to face with Levi. A distinctly sleepy looking Levi with mussed up hair and bleary eyes. 

“Hey,” he mutters, “what time is it?”

“I’m not sure, late afternoon? It’s just after nine here. Sorry were you sleeping?”

The fluttering sensation has returned, but this time it feels like wings beating inside Erwin’s chest.

“S’okay,” Levi yawns, “must have dozed off.”

“Long drive?”

“Yeah, we left at five this morning. Had to go up to Irbid first, then I picked up the Landrover and drove back down to Amman.”

“Sorry I woke you. You must be exhausted.”

And Erwin is sorry for waking Levi, but he wouldn’t have missed this sight for the world. 

“No worries, I need to be up anyway.”

Levi runs one hand through his hair, scratches the back of his head and yawns again.

“Is that you back in Amman for a while now?” Erwin asks, struggling to keep his voice as steady as possible. 

“Yeah, I’m here for the next while unless something else turns up. Need to do some more work on my thesis anyway.”

“Good.”

Erwin is fighting a loosing battle to keep the smile off his face. 

“Why good?” 

Levi looks a lot more awake now; eyes narrowing, squinting at the camera suspiciously. 

“Because I thought I might come and visit.” 

Levi’s eyes blow wide, narrow brows shooting upwards, and for a moment he just stares, dumbstruck.

“What….here?” he eventually manages. 

“Yes,” and Erwin can’t help laughing now, “that’s usually what visit means isn’t it?” 

“Doing be a fucking smart arse. When?”

“Next weekend.” 

“Next …what? Are you shitting me Erwin?”

“I most certainly am not. Look.”

Erwin holds a sheet of paper up in front of his camera and is rewarded be the sight of Levi peering at his screen, tousled hair flopping forward over his eyes.

“What the fuck’s that?” 

“Print out of my flight confirmation.” 

“Well shit.”

Levi sits back and runs his hands through his hair again, folding them behind his head. 

“That okay?” 

“Umm yeah, I guess.” Levi replies, shaking his head in what Erwin hopes is surprise. 

“Well if you’d rather I didn’t come…” he pouts. 

Erwin knows it’s mean to tease, but looking at Levi right now, with his hair a riot and a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, he honestly can’t help himself. 

“Oh for fuck sake,” Levi snorts, rolling his eyes, “you’re pathetic, so pathetic. Yes you can come, just stop fucking pouting.” 

“I’ll see you next Saturday then?”

“Okay” Levi replies. He’s trying to scowl, but failing miserably and Erwin wants nothing more than to shout with joy.


	17. Half way across the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way back in June 2016, [birbwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birbwin/pseuds/birbwin) asked if I wanted to finish a ficlet she’d started writing about Erwin trying and failing to order coffee at a cafe with a grumpy barista somewhere in the Middle East. I said sure, I’ll give it a go, and 10 months and 40,000 words later I finally managed to get the damn thing finished. That ficlet turned into _Cardamom_ and I had a real blast writing it because I got to write Levi as an archaeologist and I based some of Levi and Erwin’s experiences on fieldwork I did in Jordan way back in the dim and distant past. I loved the short time I spent in the Middle East and I’ve always wanted to got back. This was the next best thing. 
> 
> So huge thanks to [birbwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birbwin/pseuds/birbwin) for kicking this whole thing off, for being my patient beta and for giving voice to Arab Levi, [seitsensarvi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seitsensarvi/pseuds/seitsensarvi) for translating Francophone Levi, [prosotankutu](http://prosotankutu.tumblr.com/) for her [beautiful art](http://prosotankutu.tumblr.com/post/147801062085/levi-has-wrapped-his-keffiyeh-around-his-head) and everyone who read and commented here, on tumblr and on twitter.

The heat hits Erwin like a wall as he steps off the plane and onto the tarmac. Beyond the lights of the runways he can see the dim outline of palms silhouetted against the darker velvet of the sky. He inhales a deep breath, the air is warm and heavy, and over the familiar taint of aviation fuel there’s something unfamiliar, something foreign. And that’s when it hits home. He’s here. He’s actually here. After all the hoping, all the waiting, he’s actually made it back to the Middle East, back to Jordan. And somewhere, out there, is Levi. 

It doesn’t seem quite real. 

The last week had flown by in a flurry of last minute planning and packing, with Skype calls and messages snatched here and there. In an uncharacteristic and ill-concealed display of anxiety, Levi had insisted on repeatedly checking Erwin’s flight number and arrival details. It’s unexpected and, Erwin decides, kind of cute. 

“So Saturday right?”

“Yes Levi, Saturday.” 

“At 16.30?”

“Saturday 16.30, and I’m flying in via London Heathrow.” 

“I’ll come and pick you up.” 

“You don’t have to do that Levi, I can just get a cab.” 

“Don’t get a cab, they’ll rip you off. Wait for me if I’m not there.” 

“I got a cab last time, it was fine.” 

“Yeah? How much did they charge you?”

“I don’t know,” Erwin shrugs “I can’t really remember, about thirty dollars?” 

“See?” Levi snaps, gesturing at the camera “I told you. Fucking crooks. You shouldn’t pay more than twenty.”

“It’ll be fine Levi, don’t worry,” Erwin laughs. 

“I’m not worrying.” Levi scowls, chewing at his bottom lip. “I’ll be there.” 

Erwin wonders if he’ll have bitten through it by the time he arrives, whether there will be a small scar, rough to the touch. The thought of Levi’s lips, the distant fleeting memory of that soft determined kiss, lights a familiar pang of longing in Erwin’s chest, but this time it’s quickly overwhelmed but the fluttering wings of excitement and the restless anxiety crawling in the pit of his stomach. 

Mercifully the week passes in a blur and Erwin has no time to dwell on his nerves or the persistent voice in the back of his head, a voice that sounds a lot like Mike, a voice that continually questions whether he’s doing the right thing. 

He’d already told Mike about the sabbatical some time ago. Considering he’s been working on the Umm el Jimal project for three years on and off, a sabbatical at the lead University isn’t too far fetched. 

“Six months in the Middle East?” Mike sniffs. “Doesn’t sound like much of a sabbatical to me man. Thought sabbaticals were supposed to be cushy numbers where you get to swan around doing fuck all for a few months before coming back with a few half-baked ideas and calling it research?” 

“Well that’s one way to look at it….” Erwin laughs, shaking his head. 

Despite graduating with a good degree, Mike had turned his back on a promising research career and found his calling teaching engineering for a pittance at a local community college. He never misses an opportunity to remind Erwin of his privilege and Erwin appreciates him for his honesty. It keeps him grounded.

And it’s because of that honesty that he knows he has to tell Mike about Levi. They meet at their regular bar for beer and pizza the weekend before Erwin is due to leave and that’s when he tells him everything. 

Mike listens quietly, picking at the label of his beer bottle as Erwin struggles to explain what it is about Levi, why they have such a connection, why it just feels so right.

“I don’t know,” he finishes weakly, “its like finding a part of myself that I didn’t even know was missing.”

“I knew it,” Mike shakes his head, and there’s a tinge of disappointment in his voice that stings Erwin. “I fucking knew you had something going on. Why didn’t you tell me man?”

“There wasn’t anything going on when you asked,” Erwin protests, though he knows that’s a lie. “It just kind of developed and one thing led to another….” 

“So you’re flying half way across the world, to the fucking Middle East,” Erwin’s hackles rise at the emphasis, “to be with some Arab guy you’ve met only once?”

“He’s not just some guy,” Erwin answers coolly, “and it’s not like I’ve only just met him, I’ve been speaking to him almost every day for the last six months.” 

“It’s not the same man.” Mike shakes his head. “How do you know he’s not just stringing you a line?”

The idea that Levi might have ulterior motives, that he might be anything less than brutally honest, is so out of character that Erwin can’t help snorting with laughter. 

“If you knew him Mike….no, just no. I can promise you that Levi is not stringing me a line.”

“How do you know?” Mike interrupts, “I mean how much do you actually know about this guy?”

“Enough,” Erwin sighs, “enough to want to know more.”

“Fuck Erwin, this is crazy even by your standards.” 

“What do you mean _my_ standards?” 

“Aw come on Erwin, you know what I mean, you get these crazy dreams, obsessions, whatever, and you won’t rest till you see them through.” 

Erwin can’t deny there’s a grain of truth in that, but he’s always considered his single-minded determination as a positive character trait rather than a negative one. 

“And what if it doesn’t work out?” Mike continues.

“If it doesn’t work out?” Erwin sits back and looks his friend square in the eye, “well, at least I’ll have tried.”

And above all else Erwin knows he has to try, so he silences the persistent voice in his head by telling himself that it’s only natural to feel a little anxious and that if he wants to be with Levi, and he does, he has never been more sure of anything than he is of this, then travelling half way across the world is a small price to pay. 

And now here he is. Half way across the world. 

Erwin stumbles through immigration and baggage reclaim in a jittery haze of jetlag and exhaustion, finally making it through to arrivals an hour after they touch down. 

Levi is not there. 

Levi is not there because it is not Saturday afternoon, it is late on Wednesday night. Erwin knows he’s taking a risk arriving early and he has justified the decision to himself repeatedly since he booked his flight the previous week. It will give him time to acclimatize, to get over the worst of the jetlag, to get his bearings and find his way around the city. And there is some truth in that, but really, if he is being honest, the one and only reason that he lied about the date of his arrival is that he wants to surprise Levi. Admittedly surprising Levi may not be a wise idea but, Erwin tells himself for the millionth time, nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

Erwin makes his way to the taxi rank, and mindful of Levi’s scolding, agrees the fare with the driver before placing his luggage in the trunk. Then he’s settling into the back seat and they’re speeding up the Desert Highway to Amman. Erwin watches the lights of the highway slipping past in the darkness as his mind starts to drift on a swell of exhaustion; thoughts sliding back to Levi, always back to Levi. 

It’s well after midnight when Erwin arrives at his hotel in downtown Amman and he’s beyond grateful for the receptionist’s polite, efficient manner and impeccable English. He’s poleaxed with exhaustion and the small amount of Arabic he’s picked up from his language classes appears to be lost in part of his brain that shut down somewhere over central Europe. He mutters his thanks to the young woman at the desk who smiles charmingly and directs him to the lifts. Erwin dumps his bags on the floor as he enters his room, shrugs off his crumpled travel clothes and collapses onto the bed. 

He wakes shivering sometime in the small hours of the night, chilled from the air conditioning, and crawls under the covers. Through the haze of exhaustion, he wonders briefly if Levi is sleeping somewhere across the city. 

It’s mid morning when Erwin wakens again. His eyes are gummy from oversleeping and his mouth feels like something died in it. He stumbles into the bathroom and by the time he’s showered and shaved he’s starting to feel a bit more normal. Normal in this case meaning that his heart is racing so fast that he can barely catch his breath. 

He’s here. In the same city as Levi, and the only thing separating them now is time.

After a quick bite to eat at the hotel, Erwin sets out to explore the city. He Skypes Levi from the foyer before leaving. 

_Hey Levi I’m going to be out most of the day._ (It’s not technically a lie.) _Are you working at the cafe tonight? What time do you finish?_

_Yeah, working tonight. Should be home by 12._

_Okay, have a good day, speak later. E x_

_K_

On his previous short trip to Amman Erwin hadn’t even begun to get his bearings. He’d become vaguely familiar with a few streets around the university and the square where he’d stumbled on Levi’s café but the rest of the city had been a disorientating maze. Levi had shown him around when they returned from the desert, but he remembers little of those days other than the devastating joy he found in Levi’s presence and the desperate longing and regret that overwhelmed him, knowing that their time together was so brief and so finite.

It seems like a lifetime ago now that he had stood at the departure gate and watched Levi walk away, leaving him choking on silent grief, one fist clenched tightly by his side, clinging to the lingering trace of Levi’s skin. Even now, the pain of that moment cuts through him like a knife and his steps falter in the street as pedestrians bustle around him. 

“Excuse me?” a man with a heavy moustache approaches, “are you lost? Can I help?”

“No,” Erwin swallows, shaking his head, “I’m fine, thank you.” 

The man nods and smiles and continues on his way. 

Erwin walks for hours, slowly assembling a mental map of the city centre. He heads towards the university first and explores the campus, before turning back on his steps, and making his way down town to lose himself in the crowded souqs and alleys of Al-Balad. He feels a small thrill of pride when he finds he is able to recognise and read one or two of the Arabic signs he passes along the way but he still feels hopelessly out of place here, clumsy and foreign and incongruous. By the time he finds his way to the Hashemite Plaza at the foot of the Roman amphitheatre he’s hot and tired and can feel his jet lag starting to kick in. He makes his way to one of the cafés that line the edge of the plaza, sits down in the shade of a red-canopied table and orders a desperately needed coffee. He’s mildly disappointed when the waiter brings him an Americano and tells him to have a nice day. 

As Erwin drinks his coffee, he watches a group of workmen erecting a lighting rig across the plaza. He knows the amphitheatre is sometimes used for shows and concerts, it’s a stunning setting, and he makes a mental note to ask Levi what’s happening. 

Levi. 

Erwin checks the time on his phone. Five o’clock in the afternoon. He’ll be starting work at the café soon. Erwin’s thumb hovers over his lock screen. Perhaps he should call Levi right now? Tell him that he’s here. Tell him he’ll see him soon. But Erwin has waited months for this, he can endure a few more hours. He stuffs his phone into his pocket and turns his attention back to the workmen in the amphitheatre. 

Erwin returns to the hotel after leaving the plaza. He sleeps for several hours to take the edge off his jetlag and wakes with a jolt later in the evening. His stomach lurches as he sits up and he has to take several deep breaths before he’s able to stand. Nine pm, almost time. 

He strips off his clothes and steps into the shower to wash off the dust and sweat of the day. By the time he’s showered he’s more awake and calmer than he’s felt for a long time. Erwin shaves carefully before changing into pale grey linen trousers and a plain white shirt. He looks himself over in the mirror, running one hand nervously through his hair, before taking a deep breath and turning to leave. 

This is it. 

The café is quiet when Erwin enters. Two elderly men are playing checkers at a table near the window and a group of younger men are smoking and chatting over their phones in the corner. Levi has his back to the counter, attention focused on cleaning the coffee machine, dark hair hiding his face. And for all Erwin’s confidence, for all his determination, all his resolve, his breath catches in his throat at the sight of him. He’s smaller, so much smaller, than Erwin had remembered, the fitted waistcoat and black apron accentuating his tapering waist and the narrow span of his hips. The sleeves of his white shirt are folded neatly up to the elbow and the muscles of his forearms flex as he polishes the already shining chrome. Erwin swallows audibly and one of the elderly men glances up at him before turning his attention back to the checkerboard. Taking a deep breath, Erwin approaches the counter, praying he won’t fluff the line he’s been practicing all week. 

“Wahad ahwi law samahet,” he says with as much casual confidence as he can muster. 

“Lahza shway,” Levi calls over his shoulder, reaching for a coffee pot without turning around.

“Thank you,” Erwin replies.

Levi freezes, the coffee pot falling from his hand as he turns around and gapes at Erwin, eyes blown wide in surprise. 

There’s a perfect moment of silence before the coffee pot hits the floor with a loud clatter and Levi spits out a string of curses. 

The young men at the table in the corner stop talking and turn round to stare. Levi ducks behind the counter to retrieve the coffee pot, and when he re-emerges, his cheeks are scarlet. 

“Erwin?” he hisses, “what the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” Erwin replies simply. 

“It’s fucking Wednesday!” 

The men in the corner are staring in open fascination now. Levi shoots them a murderous look, snaps something at them in Arabic and they hastily return their attention to their phones. 

“I thought I’d surprise you,” Erwin explains, though he’s rather take aback by the ferocity of Levi’s scowl. 

Levi just stares at him and shakes his head, muttering under his breath. 

“…allah yikhrab betak…”

“I’m sorry,” Erwin is doing his best to look contrite, but it’s difficult when Levi is blushing furiously. “I know I should have told you, but I just really wanted to…”

He tails off and grins sheepishly. 

Levi narrows his eyes and stares at him for a long moment. 

“Right,” he snaps suddenly, “sit there, and don’t move.” He points to a stool at the counter. Erwin dutifully sits. 

Levi emerges from behind the counter and speaks first to the men playing checkers at the window and then to the young men in the corner. They glance curiously at Erwin before nodding solemnly. Levi returns to the counter and busies himself with the coffee machine. A few minutes later he places a tiny cup of coffee and a sweet pastry on the counter in front of Erwin. 

“What did you say to your customers?” Erwin asks.

“I told them I had to close early to help out a stupid fucking ajnabi who’s in deep shit.” 

“Am I in deep shit? Erwin asks innocently.

“So much fucking shit…” Levi replies but his scowl has softened and the hint of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. 

Erwin drinks his coffee slowly, savoring the hit of caffeine and the warm spice of cardamom as the customers leave and Levi sets about closing up the café. By the time he’s finished, the café is empty, upturned chairs stacked neatly on the tables, floor swept clean. 

“Where are you staying?” Levi asks as he removes his apron and hangs it on a peg behind the counter.

“The Méridien,” Erwin replies.

“Ok. Lets go.”

Levi is still scowling and it’s at this point that Erwin realises he has no clue what he expects to happen next. 

The walk back to the hotel is …awkward. They exchange a few pleasantries about Erwin’s journey but Levi is tense and withdrawn and the conversation stilted. Unsure what to do when they reach the hotel, Erwin asks Levi if he would like to stop by the bar for tea or a drink but he just shakes his head. It feels rather forward to invite him up to his room, but the brightly lit hotel foyer is distinctly unappealing so there’s nothing else for it. The lift is empty when they enter and a heavy silence descends as the doors slide closed. 

“It’s good to see you,” Erwin smiles nervously. Levi glances up, but says nothing. 

They exit the lift on the third floor and Erwin leads the way to his room, fumbling with his key card before holding the door open to allow Levi to enter. As the door clicks shut, Levi exhales a long breath but he still appears nervous and ill at ease. He folds his arms across his chest and glances around the room. It’s bland, impersonal, typical of a business class hotel, they could be anywhere in the world really. 

“I’m sorry,” Erwin starts, “I know I should have told you. I just wanted to surprise you.” 

“Ma abyakh-ak,” Levi mutters. 

He’s standing in the middle of the room looking oddly out of place and Erwin is suddenly and forcibly struck by how surreal the whole scene feels. Levi is standing there, right in front of him, but somehow he feels more distant, more impossibly out of reach, than he ever did when they were half a world apart. 

“Levi…” Erwin starts again, but he doesn’t really know what to say. The easy intimacy of their Skype conversations is entirely gone. Faced with the flesh and bloody reality of Levi, Erwin is struck dumb. Lost for words, he steps forward and extends one hand towards him. Levi remains motionless for a heart stopping moment before reaching out to take his hand. He doesn’t look up, just gazes down at their intertwined fingers, the crease in his brow deepening. Erwin waits, heart hammering in his chest, as something akin to fear starts crawling up his spine. 

“La,” Levi finally mutters. It’s barely a whisper, as though he’s talking to himself. He shakes his head and drops Erwin’s hand, still looking away, still not meeting his gaze. 

Erwin’s breath catches in his throat and it’s a long moment before he remembers how to breathe. 

“Levi?” His voice sounds distant and the room suddenly feels incongruously cold. 

“No.” Levi’s voice is stronger this time. He lifts his gaze and looks directly at Erwin and there’s such a light in his eyes that everything else pales into insignificance. “No. Not here. Not like this.” 

And then he’s moving, quick and determined. 

“Come on, get what you need, leave the rest, we can come back for it. Lets go.” 

Erwin just stares, unable to move or comprehend, and when he does find his voice its thick and choked. 

“Where to?”

And that’s when Levi takes his hand again, smiling as he squeezes it tightly. 

“Home. Come on. Yalla.” 

Levi leads him through dark unfamiliar streets, still bustling with life. He walks brisk but unhurried, weaving through the flow of people, crossing chaotic intersections with a confidence born of familiarity, the confidence of home. Erwin follows in his wake bewildered and reeling, barely noticing the streets and landmarks Levi points out along the way. 

“King Hussain Mosque. If you ever get lost, head that way. Everyone knows it.” 

Eventually the streets grow quieter and Levi stops abruptly in front of a non-descript door between a shop selling electrical goods and a photography studio with a lurid display of airbrushed portraits arranged in the window, each shot in front of a technicolour background of cityscapes, deserts, beaches scenes. Erwin can’t help staring. 

“Want to get your picture taken?” Levi smirks. “I can get you a good price.”

Erwin laughs and shakes his head, and somehow his laughter brings him back to the present. He’s here, really here. With Levi. Standing right outside his font door. 

“Come on then,” Levi chides, holding the door open. “Don’t just stand there. If you get arrested for loitering I’m not going to bail your ass out.” 

The narrow stairwell is cool and dark, dim light filtering down from a single light illuminating an upper landing. Levi leads him up three flights of stairs. On the second landing a small grey cat detaches itself from the shadows and trots up the stairs behind them. It winds round Levi’s legs purring, as he stops outside a door on the third landing. 

“Yours?” Erwin asks, reaching down and extending one hand towards the cat. The cat regards him with disdain before continuing to twine around Levi’s ankles. 

“Fuck no. She belongs to the family down stairs, she just thinks she lives here.” 

Levi turns the key in the lock and the cat slips inside as he pushes the door open. He reaches inside to flick on the light switch, then stands aside and gestures over the threshold. 

“Hawel.”

Erwin takes a deep breath and steps inside. 

Levi’s apartment is small and oddly familiar, like a vague memory from a half remembered dream. Erwin immediately recognises the bookcase on the wall behind the desk, the backdrop to countless Skype calls. The corner with the bed looks familiar too. There’s a seating area opposite he hasn’t seen before, cushions arranged neatly on the floor, and an open doorway that appears to lead off to a small kitchen where the cat is sitting, waiting patiently. 

“Take a seat,” Levi gestures towards the seating area before disappearing into the kitchen, followed by the expectant cat. 

Erwin eyes the floor cushions ruefully, his knees still stiff from the long haul flight and the afternoon walking around the city. He settles for the chair by the desk instead. 

The room is plain and pristine, with tiled floors and white walls. Everything is in its place, books and papers stacked neatly on the desk, a few maps and plans pinned to the wall. The only concession to interior décor is a framed poster reading Beirut Luna Park Music Festival, and a large red rug with bold patterns embroidered in bright colourful wool. 

“I like your carpet,” Erwin comments, for want of something better to say. 

“It’s from Madaba,” Levi calls from the kitchen. 

“Isn’t there a famous mosaic there or something?” 

“Yeah, the Madaba Map. It’s Byzantine, sixth century. You know it?” 

Levi remerges from the kitchen, sans cat, and places two glasses of tea on the desk.

“No,” Erwin shakes his head, “Hanji mentioned it, told me I should see it.” 

“No shit? Well you should.”

Levi shrugs off his waistcoat, reaches past Erwin to turn on a desk lamp, then flicks off the overhead light, bathing the room in a soft muted glow. 

“Okay?” 

“I think so,” Erwin replies, though really, he’s not very sure. 

He’s even less sure a moment later when Levi turns to the small recessed cupboard beside the bed and removes his shirt, bundling it into a basket on the floor. The dim light from the desk lamp casts shadows across his back, highlighting the slope of his shoulders, the valley of his spine, the sharp cut of his hips. Erwin is mesmerized, and when Levi pulls on a faded black t-shirt, it does nothing to break the spell. 

He turns around, crossing his arms over his chest, the same gesture as earlier in the evening, but this time Levi is entirely in his element, relaxed and alert, cool grey gaze focused squarely on Erwin, brows tilting upwards in amusement. The contrast is striking and it takes Erwin’s breath away.

“So. You’re here.” 

Levi steps forward.

“So it seems.” Erwin replies. The silence stretches. “I did promise.” 

Levi snorts and shakes his head. He’s standing right in front of Erwin now, so close Erwin need only lift his hand to touch him. 

“You promised to call, you didn’t promise to turn up on my fucking door step.” 

Something in Erwin’s chest swells, and his heart is hammering so hard he swears Levi must be able to hear it. 

“You remembered?”

“Tch. Like I could forget. ” Levi rolls his eyes, then the crook of his finger is under Erwin’s chin, tilting his face up to hold his gaze.

“Erwin Smith.” And Erwin’s not sure if it’s annoyance or amusement or incredulity, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s gazing at Erwin with such intensity that everything else fades into insignificance. “What the fuck am I going to do with you?” 

Erwin swallows, throat suddenly tight and when he speaks again his voice is low and thick.

“I don’t know Levi Ackerman, what are you going to do with me?”

And somehow, without his volition, Erwin’s hands have found their way to Levi’s hips, resting lightly around the narrow circle of his waist. 

Levi just stares, brows furrowed over sharp grey eyes, alight with wonder and disbelief and something else that Erwin can’t put a name to. 

“You came.” One corner of his mouth lifts in a small crooked smile. “You came back.” 

Then without warning his arms are around Erwin’s shoulders and he pulls him in, embracing Erwin with such strength, such ferocity that it almost knocks the air from his lungs. Erwin slides his own arms around Levi’s waist and it’s all he can do just to hold on and breathe him in. He smells of soap and spice and coffee.

They remain like that, holding on with all their strength, holding on for dear life, and maybe that’s what this is. Erwin’s face is pressed against Levi’s chest and he can hear the rapid beating of his heart matching time with his own. And that’s when it finally sinks in; this is real, this is it. After all the waiting, all the wanting, all the longing, they are here, together.

It’s Levi who breaks the embrace, stepping back and pulling Erwin to his feet. Erwin stands, towering awkwardly over him. Had he always been so tall? Levi takes him by the hand pulling him, turning him, and Erwin’s not really aware he’s moving until the back of his legs collide with the edge of the bed. Then Levi’s reaching up, arching up on his toes, pulling Erwin down and their lips meet in a clumsy bruising kiss that’s all heat and want and Erwin is no longer capable of conscious though. Sharp teeth nip at his lower lip and there’s a hand fisting in his shirt pulling him in, pulling him down, and Erwin offers no resistance, allows himself to be caught up in the undertow of Levi’s desire. 

Levi breaks the kiss with a long breath, hot against Erwin’s cheek, and he’s gazing at Erwin with a question in his eyes. 

“Levi…” Erwin answers, “we don’t have to...” He can still feel the heat of Levi’s breath on his skin. “If you don’t want to…”

Levi’s brow tilts up, lips curving into that maddening smirk. And really, Erwin would have to be blind not to see the want clouding Levi’s eyes. 

“Fuck.” 

Erwin exhales an unsteady laugh and Levi shakes his head and smiles. 

“You’re hopeless old man.” 

It’s Levi who leads, strong hands pushing Erwin down onto the bed, deft agile fingers working at his buttons, slipping his shirt over his shoulders. He’s slow, deliberate, reverent almost, removing Erwin’s clothes piece by piece, kissing as he goes. And all the time he’s talking, murmuring quiet soft words that Erwin doesn’t understand but his hands, his eyes, the fleeting press of warm lips to exposed skin, make his intentions clear and he leaves no room for doubt. 

Levi sheds his clothes, discards them on the floor with Erwin’s own, and then he claims Erwin’s body, Erwin’s mouth, every inch of his skin, mapping out his territory with hands and lips and tongue. His body is warm and heavy, and he’s gentle and generous, tender and fierce. Erwin didn’t know what he expected, but not this, not such gentleness. He revels in the compact weight of him, the lithe flex of muscle, the velvet warmth of his skin, the dark fall of his hair. Levi takes him with determination Erwin has rarely experienced and gentleness he could never have believed possible. He brings him right to the edge and holds him there, writhing and begging as the last shreds of Erwin’s hesitation and restraint rip free and they come together in a fierce moment of aching bliss. 

Levi collapses against Erwin in the moment of release, head coming to rest against the crook of his neck. He lies there motionless, breath fanning hot across his throat. Erwin slides his arms round his waist and holds him close and this is everything he ever wanted and so much more than he could have dreamed of. 

Erwin wakes at dawn to the sound the adhan. The room is quiet and dim. Beneath the fluid call of the muezzin he can hear the sounds of the city stirring into life. Levi sleeps beside him, hair a riot, cheek pillowed in the palm of one hand. It’s an oddly child-like gesture and even with the perpetual furrow of his brow, he looks younger, so much younger than his years. Erwin lies still and just gazes, drinking him in. His face and forearms are much darker than last time Erwin saw him, tanned to a deep umber from his recent weeks in the desert. His lips are parted in sleep and Erwin can feel the ghost of his breath against his cheek. He’s overwhelmed with the desire to touch him, to possess him, but despite the fact he is lying naked beside him, Erwin can’t help feeling that it would be an imposition to touch. He is here by Levi’s grace alone and it is not his place to take more than has been offered. 

Erwin settles for brushing an errant strand of hair away from Levi’s face. His nose twitches and the crease between his brows deepens as heavy lids slide open. 

“Still here then?” 

His voice is thick and slurred with sleep.

“Looks like it. Are you throwing me out?”

Levi yawns and stretches, then to Erwin’s surprise he turns over and burrows in against him, nudging and shoving unceremoniously until he gets comfortable. His head rests on Erwin’s shoulder, arm draped heavily across his chest, one leg sprawled over his thighs.

“Nah,” he hums, fingers tracing lazy patterns down Erwin’s side. “You can stay.” He pauses, fingers stilling for a moment. “How long? How long can you stay?”

He’s trying hard for casual but he’s not quite carrying it off. Erwin knows him well enough to hear the regret, the apprehension in his voice, and though he can’t see his face from this position, he can imagine the deep frown shadowing his eyes. And Erwin knows he is a bad person and he knows that Levi will make him pay, deservedly, thrice over, but he just can’t resist it. He runs his fingers through Levi’s hair, turning his head away to hide the smile he can’t keep off his lips.

“Not long, I’m sorry.”

Levi exhales a sigh against his shoulder. 

“Just six months.” 

“What the fuck?” Levi sits bolt upright in shock. “Six months? You’re shitting me!” 

“No,” Erwin grins, “I am not shitting you. I’m here for six months.” 

“But…how…how can you be…” He’s almost speechless and Erwin silently congratulates himself for stunning Levi into silence for the second time in as many days. He’s quite sure it will never happen again. 

“Nile kindly agreed to let me bring my sabbatical forward to next semester, which starts next month, but I had some annual leave to use up, so officially I’m on holiday for the next three weeks until my sabbatical starts at the beginning of January.”

“Fuck. You really are a devious bastard aren’t you?” Levi’s affronted scowl is rather spoiled by the colour spreading across his cheeks. “So what are you going to do for the next six months?” 

“I’m editing a book on dating techniques so I need to finish that, but I also thought it would be good to do some fieldwork.” 

“Fieldwork?” Levi eyes him skeptically, “with your knees?” 

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” Erwin grins. 

“You reckon? You know fuck all about doing fieldwork out here. You’ll just die in the desert old man.” 

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Although,” Erwin pauses, “I was hoping to find an experienced local fieldworker to tag along with.”

Levi huffs out a short laugh.

“Where are you going to stay?” He asks after a few moments. 

“The department have arranged accommodation for me. It’s up near the University, a house on Uhod Street I think? But I can’t move in until my sabbatical starts in January.” 

“And until then?”

“I was just going to stay at the hotel.”

Levi wrinkles his nose disapprovingly.

“Why don’t you stay here?”

“I don’t want to impose, Levi.” And it’s true, he doesn’t. Erwin had never intended to arrive uninvited and take advantage of Levi’s hospitality. “It’s not a problem to stay at the hotel.”

“Tch. Waste of fucking money. You can stay here.” 

“Well if you’re sure…”

Levi glares at him for a moment with the kind of expression that will brook no argument. 

“Okay, okay,” Erwin holds his hands up in defeat. “If you insist.”

Levi nods once, satisfied, and settles down against Erwin’s shoulder again, the discussion clearly at a close. 

“Good,” he yawns. “Now lie still. It’s way too fucking early to be awake.” 

Erwin draws his arms around Levi and closes his eyes, letting himself drift back to sleep on rise and fall of Levi’s breath.


	18. Epilogue - Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Learning to live together takes time and effort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't intended to write an epilogue for Cardamom, but several people asked nicely, so who am I to refuse? So this is for everyone who wanted an epilogue and particularly for Momtaku.

Learning to live together is a work in progress. It takes a bit of adjustment, a bit of compromise, for them to fit together. Slowly, carefully, they learn each other’s rhythms and routines, learn how to slot into the spaces around each other, learn things they could never have learned while they were five thousand miles apart. 

Erwin learns that Levi drinks improbable amounts of tea, that he enjoys cooking, that he cracks his knuckles without being aware of it. Levi learns that Erwin sings in the shower, gets irritable when he’s hungry, and is of no use to man nor beast in the morning before he’s had coffee. 

It isn’t all plain sailing. There are inevitable missteps along the way, when they hit nerves, and rub each other up the wrong way. Occasionally the friction kindles into disagreements that smolder for days before igniting into full-blown arguments. Erwin is stubborn, Levi more so. If Erwin is the proverbial unstoppable force, Levi is the embodiment of the immovable object. 

Levi is fastidiously clean and tidy and though Erwin considers himself to be thoroughly domesticated he is no match for Levi’s standards. A glass placed on the table without a coaster earns him a wrinkled nose and flat glare, a cup left in the sink earns a string of muttered curses followed by hours of cold silence, and when Erwin leaves a towel lying on the floor Levi threatens to drive him into the desert and abandon him there. 

Erwin may be stubborn, but he is nothing if not adaptable and he learns quickly. After all, it is Levi’s home and he is a guest. 

Much like himself, Levi’s flat is small, pristine and self contained. Everything is in its place, and even though Erwin has only brought a single bag of clothes with him, he is painfully conscious of the space he occupies. Sometimes he feels too large, too intrusive, too much, so he takes himself off and explores the city, walking for miles until he becomes familiar with the streets and squares, the souqs and alleyways, the thoroughfares and boulevards. Sometimes, he looses track of time, which results in a string of irate texts from Levi.

 _Where the fuck are you?_  
Are you lost idiot?  
You’re lost aren’t you?  
Where are you? Do I have to come and fucking find you? 

Erwin, to his credit, never gets lost. At least not that he’d admit. Not so lost that he has to text Levi for directions home. 

It doesn’t take long for Erwin to meet the other tenants in Levi’s block; the large man who runs the photography studio on the ground floor, the young couple in the apartment above, the family with the cat and two small boys on the floor below. Boys who turn up at Levi’s door with surprising regularity. Levi shoos them away impatiently, but Erwin can’t help noticing that they rarely leave empty handed. The children are intensely curious about Erwin, finding ever more frequent excuses to appear on the doorstep to show off the latest English phrases they’ve learned at school, while shrieking with derision at Erwin’s rudimentary Arabic. Erwin enjoys their company, particularly when Levi is working long hours in the café, and before long they’re having regular language lessons where Erwin helps with their English and the boys teach Erwin some choice Arabic phrases that make Levi roll his eyes in horror. Erwin learns more from the kids in a fortnight than he learned in months of language classes at the university. 

Though Erwin is quick to adapt, he is quite unprepared for the sheer physicality of Levi. Just being there, sharing the same space as him on a daily basis is … distracting. Sometimes Erwin can’t help staring, when Levi is dressing, or reading or working, and it annoys Levi when he catches him. 

“Stop fucking staring Erwin. You’re creeping me out.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

Erwin immediately drops his gaze, contrite. But Levi himself is not immune. Erwin can’t fail to notice the way his eyes widen, when Erwin steps out of the shower. The way his throat bobs, the faint blush that spreads across his cheeks when he scowls and turns away.

Despite his abrasive temperament, Erwin is pleasantly surprised to discover that Levi is unexpectedly affectionate. Though it’s a peculiarly feline form of affection - unpredictable and entirely on his own terms. Levi doesn’t think twice about removing Erwin’s tablet from his hands and climbing into his lap when he wants attention, but at the same time he will not hesitate to brush Erwin off when he’s not in the mood. Something that Erwin learns the hard way. One evening he slides his hands round Levi’s waist while he’s washing dishes at the sink, only to be met with a sharp elbow jabbed onto his solar plexus with enough force to knock the breath out of him. 

“I’m busy,” Levi growls, “keep your fucking hands to yourself.” 

It’s only later that night that he apologizes, kissing the purple bruise blooming on Erwin’s abdomen. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles into Erwin’s chest. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just…I don’t like…just don’t come up behind me like that, okay?”

Erwin nods and runs his hand through Levi’s hair. He learns to signal his advances and time them more carefully.

Erwin also learns that Levi has trouble sleeping. Admittedly this is no surprise, Erwin has long been aware of Levi’s erratic sleep patterns. It worked to their advantage when they were separated by a seven hour time difference, though Erwin had often chided Levi for still being awake at stupid o’clock in the morning. It’s only now that he realizes just how disturbed Levi’s sleep really is. It’s a miracle if he sleeps for more that four hours on the trot. Erwin often wakes to find the bed empty and Levi slumped in the chair by his desk, a cold cup of tea by his side. Sometimes Levi will slip back into bed before the morning adhan, waking Erwin with his cold feet and inquisitive hands. 

Hands that spend hours exploring Erwin’s body. Levi is surprisingly tactile when the mood takes him, and the mood takes him often. He seems to thrive on the touch of skin and Erwin spends blissful hours lying in bed, listening to the city stirring into life, as Levi’s hands roam over his chest, arms, shoulders, down over his belly, following the cut of his hips, circling his cock, trailing down over his thighs. Not an inch is left unexplored, untouched, unkissed. A particularly smooth patch of skin inside Erwin’s arm seems to fascinate Levi and he returns to it continuously, rubbing his cheek against it like a cat. Erwin basks in the attention, realizing only now how starved of touch he has been, and he can’t help wondering if Levi feels that way too. 

Of course Levi’s explorations have inevitable consequences and frequently end up with him lying spent and boneless over Erwin’s chest while Erwin drifts beneath him in a haze of contentment. 

Levi tops, which Erwin is more than satisfied with. He has never been one for fixed positions and has always been happy to switch. He never gives it more than a passing thought until Levi straddles his thighs one morning, presses the bottle of lube into his hand and says “your turn.”

Erwin stares for a moment. 

“Are you sure?” he asks apprehensively. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want this, not at all, it’s just that, and there’s no other way to put this, Levi is small and he, most emphatically, is not. 

“Of course I’m fucking sure.” 

Levi glares defiantly from his vantage point. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You won’t. I’ve done this before you know.” 

“I know, but…”

Levi sits back, arms folded and huffs.

“Well if you don’t want to…” 

“No! No, I do!” 

“Well in that case…”

Levi reaches for Erwin’s hand, pours some of the lube over it and guides it behind him. 

He’s tight. Even with one finger he’s so tight that he bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. 

“Levi, we can…

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, pushing back against Erwin’s hand. Slowly, surely, Erwin works him open with careful fingers and soft words, easing in, breath by breath, until Levi melts around him. And all the time Levi’s gaze never once leaves his face. By the time Erwin has three fingers sliding easily inside him, he’s aching with want and every curse, every sigh that falls from Levi’s lips sends a bolt of heat straight through him. 

“Enough. Now. Come on.” Levi growls, voice thick and low in his throat. 

Then he’s pulling Erwin’s hand away, repositioning himself and sinking down onto Erwin as his head tilts back, dark hair scattering over his brow, mouth falling open on a long, low moan. 

The heat and pressure is overwhelming, and it’s all Erwin can do to hold on, fingers curling tight around Levi’s hips as he starts to move, slow at first, setting the pace, until they find their rhythm. Then Erwin is pushing him on as the pressure coils low in his belly, tighter and tighter, until he can’t hold on any longer. He comes with a cry, hips arching up of the bed, almost toppling Levi right over. And before he can come to his senses, Levi is grabbing his hand, curling his fingers around his cock, guiding him with swift sure strokes until he comes moments later with his eyes wide open and Erwin’s name on his lips. 

Erwin drifts, stunned and breathless, Levi sprawled heavy on top of him, skin slick with sweat. He glances down at the top of Levi’s head, a view he is fast becoming accustomed to, black hair scattered across his chest, breath feathering warm over his skin.

“Good?” he asks, placing a kiss in Levi’s hair.

“Yeah,” Levi yawns, fingers tracing patterns up his side, “you’re learning.”


End file.
